On Edge
by nicayal
Summary: All that glitters is not gold. Sometimes it's just an overdressed ice skater trying to regain an ounce of composure after bellyflopping a jump in front of his coach. But hey, everyone has off days. Since qualifying for Nationals and an unexpected locker room encounter with his fellow Sectionals medalist, Roxas has just been having a few more than usual. AU AkuRoku
1. Off Day

**A/N** : I...was not sure where to put this. A few fellow writers and I decided to try our hand at a KH figure skating AU and the concept works a lot better on AO3 than it does FFN. Essentially, we've got a collection going. There'll be multiple stories of various lengths and character perspectives set in one common, totally AU world. It revolves around a rivalry between Axel and Roxas but there will be other pairings, most prominently that of Sora and Riku (FFN user tisshuuame is writing Sora and I'll be handling Riku eventually). This can be read as a stand-alone piece, but it might be helpful to read Axel's alternating viewpoint chapters, which FFN and AO3 user silvermyth wrote, entitled Waiting at the Boards (especially since I included references to a flashback in the second half of this chapter that is more fully explained in Axel's opening chapter). If you like the AU, I believe you can follow the collection directly on AO3 too. It's called "Iced".

Otherwise, enjoy some grouchy figure skater Roxas in this offering because that's what I'm currently serving. Sorry not sorry about the insult, Sora.

* * *

001: OFF DAY

* * *

 **November 2015**

If there was one thing about which Roxas was certain, it was that axels were bullshit, whether they were triple jumps or obnoxious, redhead senior men show-offs. After his sixth consecutive fall that morning, he was also beginning to wonder if the ones he'd landed at Pacific Coast Sectionals a week earlier happened to be nothing more than a pair of flukes at this point.

It'd been a full week of mistakes, of wonky take-offs, embarrassing sit-downs, and flipped out, awkward stumbles. His shins burned, hips no doubt bruised to the bone after repeated falls. But nothing compared to the embarrassment of having one's coach order you back to doing doubles under the guise of not sustaining a serious injury.

It definitely wasn't a good sign on the lead-up to Nationals.

After the last hard fall on a single forty minute freestyle session, he also hadn't had much of a choice. Terra wasn't a hard-ass in general, but after a decade and a half of private lessons Roxas knew him well enough not to argue when he adopted one look in particular.

Terra was apparently also familiar with Roxas' expressions. As Roxas pushed himself back up onto his feet, the look Terra was sporting shifted from sternly no-nonsense to one inching closer toward sympathy.

"There's nothing wrong with reviewing the basics. And you do have a double axel near the end of your program that needs to be strong. It's worth shifting gears to work on it for a session or two."

Right. Sure. If Terra believed this qualified as a successful pep talk, he was more delusional than the judges who'd thought Axel Cendres' inartistic scratchfest of a Sectionals long program warranted a components score in the distant ballpark of 70.

So, double axels. Okay, no problem. Roxas shot off three in quick succession, looking to the boards where Terra was perched after each one to see if he had any comments. Every time, it was just a thoughtful look and a hand gesture indicating he should do another. As far as Roxas could tell, there was nothing objectively wrong with his attempts. A jump he'd mastered at twelve, it wasn't difficult for him, even if he'd never been a fan of the forward take-off.

After jump three, he finally got a reaction. Bracing the boards with hands on either side of him, Terra pushed himself back onto the ice and glided over, careful to avoid crossing paths with the handful of other elite skaters who were sharing the session with them. He passed Roxas, coming to a gradual stop at the side of the rink where each jump had just been executed.

Dutifully, Roxas followed. At the edge of his vision, he caught sight of younger boy setting up a jump. Near center ice, he was following the blue hockey markings, traveling on a slow back outside edge. Although the step forward was tentative, the rotation that followed was tight and solid. After three and a half rapid-fire revolutions, the boy landed cleanly, and Roxas bit the inside of his cheek to keep from uttering a string of expletives Terra'd no doubt make him pay for in triple program run-throughs later if he ended up overhearing.

It was just, the guy had only starting working on that jump, like, three months ago, and they'd already begun comparing him to Ventus in terms of innate ability. It'd taken Roxas a base minimum of double that time to start standing up on the same element. By now, he already knew that merely having a champion older brother couldn't make up for those who possessed a lot more natural talent than he'd ever boasted in this sport. The knowledge didn't make him any less irritable, however.

Quietly stewing, Roxas tried to refocus on his coach who was studying the tracings of each of his jumps. Knowing Terra could lose track of time while considering nuances that were only visible to him, Roxas glided forward, came to a stop next to him, and made an attempt at speeding up the process.

"My landing was kind of screwy on the last one."

He was treated to a vague smile, then a more definitive shake of Terra's head.

"Your landings aren't the issue here."

Okay…

Still eyeing the ice in front of him, Roxas waited for Terra to supplement. When instructions didn't seem to be forthcoming, Roxas tried a different angle.

"Did you want me to do another?"

Straightening, Terra shook his head, gaze traveling to the center of the rink. For a moment, both student and coach watched as the only other male skater on the session tried another triple axel along the middle hockey circle. He'd picked up a little speed from his prior attempt, the subsequent landing not as smooth but secure enough to tack a small blur of a double toe onto the end of it. Nearby, Roxas heard clapping. A quick scan of the boards revealed two girls standing by water bottles and a tissue box, gloves balled up and stowed under their arms so they could applaud Radiant Edge FSC's latest skating prodigy.

He already had Ven's old fan club, Roxas noted. _Fan_ tastic.

"Do you know why Sora can save jumps like that, even when his timing's a little off?"

 _Because he's three feet tall and weighs less than the shit I took this morning?_

Taking in a long breath to subvert the acerbic comment before he gave voice to it, Roxas glanced over at Terra.

"He rotates really fast?"

"True, but that won't save a jump when it starts with…"

Terra trailed off, brows rising as he waited for Roxas.

"…a poor take-off."

As Roxas finished the sentence, Terra smiled.

"Exactly."

With a tilt of his head, he glanced back down at Roxas' ice patterns.

"You're missing the skid that initiates the jump's rotation. It's actually a small miracle you get enough height to complete it with such consistency."

Roxas followed his gaze. Sure enough, only one tracing had even the slightest hint of the requisite, telltale checkmark.

"You're also sinking into the circle," Terra continued. "It's something you can get away with on the double but the triple isn't as forgiving if you don't make sure you lead with a strong left shoulder."

Roxas said nothing but knew Terra was right. The axel'd always felt unnatural to him, the forward take-off unstable in comparison to his other triples. While every other jump worked off pre-generated momentum, the axel took strong technique.

 _"Watch this shit, motherfuckers!"_

And cockiness bordering on outright indecent, he begrudgingly admitted, thoughts momentarily turning to none other than Sectional silver medalist Axel Cendres.

The metallic clang of the locks unhinging near the zamboni garage signaled the end of the session. As others exited the ice, Roxas headed to the boards to collect his own skating supplies, Terra following a few strokes behind him.

"I'm going to check in on Aqua's off-ice stretching session with the intermediate and novice kids." Making a grab for his blade guards, Terra sped off, leaving Roxas to scramble after him, while pointedly ignoring the bored look gracing the face of the rink's zamboni operator. "Let's meet at lunch. There's something I want to go over with you."

By the time Roxas hopped off the ice and slipped on his own skate guards, Terra was halfway down the hall toward the ballet room, an old pro at balancing on quarter inch skate blades after decades of practice.

Not in the mood for superficial small talk or the girls' endless club room gossip, Roxas trudged over to one of the public benches and plopped down to unlace his skates and give his feet some air before the next freestyle session he was scheduled for. Maybe the first crappy session didn't indicate anything more than muscle soreness after a Sunday off the ice, he told himself. That would make sense, actually.

Taking into account the last full week of terrible falls and jump-related fuck-ups, however, Roxas had his doubts.

o - o

"…Asahi fired her, practically on national television."

 _"Roxas."_

 _The voice had been resonate, his name almost purred between lips that curved into a natural smirk. Coupled with newfound proximity as Axel halved the distance between them, from there quickly halving it again until they were mere inches from each other, Roxas hadn't had time to think, let alone jerk away from the hand that had caught his chin between thumb and index finger._

 _"Stop fucking around," Axel had said, fixing him in place with eyes that were almost smoldering with effortless, conveyed confidence._

"I mean, who _does_ that?"

 _He'd wanted to say something snarky, to step away and leave Axel standing in the changing room with nothing to show for his bravado beyond a second place medal and the knowledge that even a solid arsenal of triples hadn't been enough to surpass artistry and smoother transitions and better spin positions._

 _Instead, he'd hesitated, transfixed by the intense look Axel was shooting him, found himself wanting to study the sharp features and inked markings that had made the guy a crowd favorite since he'd first appeared on the scene seemingly out of nowhere last year. Whatever expression his features had ultimately settled on seemed to have been telling, because the next thing Roxas knew, Axel's mouth was on his._

"It's just so…public. You know?"

Did he ever.

 _At first, he'd tried to resist, to push against Axel and disentangle them both. Pressing one hand against his chest only served to provide a hint of the well-defined pectorals under Axel's simple costume button-up._

 _From there, he'd been essentially fucked._

 _Between the shock that he was being kissed and Naminé's unanticipated entrance came a more gradual realization, one that took longer to settle after he'd made a grab for his Zuca bag and scrambled back out into the hall. It pretty much came down to the fact that, no question, he'd been kissing Axel back._

"Roxas?"

 _"Roxas."_

 _So deep. Evocative. Why was that voice affecting him like this?_

 _Maybe it was the shock of a kiss he hadn't seen coming. That had to be it. Nothing more._

 _He hoped._

"Is everything alright?"

 _"Stop fucking around."_

 _Well, what the hell kind of response was Axel expecting when he was outright verbally pissing on jump technique he'd learned over the course of a decade? He hadn't sacrificed a normal childhood and every moment of free time as a teenager just to take pointers from some guy who couldn't tell a mohawk from a choctaw. Axel was a skater past his prime, a one season wonder, Roxas told himself as a means of comfort. Two, at most if he managed to avoid tearing his labrum pulling those slipshod jumps straight out of his (admittedly well-defined) ass with such irritating consistency each competition._

"Hey, Roxas..."

A gentle hand on his shoulder sent a prickle of surprise down one arm, and it was all Roxas could to not to knock his bottle of Dasani straight off the table in front of him.

"What?"

He glanced over at the girl beside him. From the look Olette was giving him, his response had come out harsher than intended.

"I just wanted to see if you were okay." Her eyes darted quickly to the others with whom they were sharing a table. Roxas followed her gaze and realized most of them were not so subtly staring back, no doubt as a direct consequence of his latest comment. "You seem kind of distracted today, is all."

"I'm fine. Just tired."

He looked down at the salad he hadn't so much as touched in the last half hour and stabbed into some spinach leaves with a plastic fork to illustrate.

Totally _fine_.

Lucky for him, Sora saved the day by entering with a flourish T-minus two seconds later. Before now, Sora hadn't been someone Roxas ever would've found himself grateful to see. He chalked it up to nothing more than a freak occurrence, before spearing a cherry tomato and inserting it whole, without fanfare, straight into his mouth.

Locating Roxas, Sora grinned, then made an exaggerated gesture indicating he wanted Roxas to get up and come sit with him. With a sigh and a barely suppressed eye-roll, Roxas made a swipe at his lunch, muttered a few words of farewell to Olette and the others, and plodded a path over to RE-FSC's junior circuit up-and-comer.

As soon as he was close enough to see the table, he eyed Sora's lunch choice with an arched brow.

"Better not let the coaching staff see you with that." He waved a hand in the general direction of Sora's chicken sandwich, yogurt cup, and glass of milk, before taking a seat two chairs over. "You'll never hear the end of it if you start growing fat rolls or losing your jumps."

Sora blinked, bemused before he connected Roxas' hand movement with the platter of food in front of him.

"Oh, it's cool. Terra signed off on it."

He offered Roxas a smile, which Roxas didn't return.

"He told me to eat lots of protein and double up on strength training since I'm going to start working on quad toes soon."

 _Of course he did. It figured._

The declaration came with an excited bounce of Sora's knees, and Roxas took a moment to check his frustration long enough to offer a nod. It wasn't Sora's fault he was practically tripping over his own feet lately, after all. A junior skater, Roxas also didn't consider Sora genuine competition. Having qualified out of Sectionals, they were both set to compete at Nationals, just not at the same level.

Then again, Roxas mused as he made a second attempt at finishing his salad, he hadn't considered Axel a threat last year and now the guy was only placing behind him at Sectionals due to a foul-mouthed technicality, most likely. For all he knew, Sora'd be giving him a run for his money in a season or two as well.

"I mean, I'm totally stoked," Sora continued speaking between bites of his sandwich, "but I still need to work on my edge quality and presentation. Feeling the music is way harder than it seems, you know?"

Making a non-committal sound, Roxas reached for his water bottle. Artistry had never been a problem for him, was in fact one of the few things he really got lost in during practice when his music filtered across the ice at the start of his programs. Staying on his stupid feet during jumping passes was where his own personal hang-ups generally fell. Literally.

"Nice to see you two eating together."

Roxas glanced up just long enough to see Terra approaching, skates off and laptop tucked under one arm. He also caught the tail-end of Sora's corresponding grin and supposed he was fortunate not to have seen it full on. Kid had a smile with a wattage that bordered on blinding and he was generous when employing it. No wonder he'd quickly become popular since switching training facilities.

Terra gestured to the seat between them.

"May I?"

Letting Sora do the scooting to make room, Roxas merely looked down at his lunch but said nothing. He heard more than saw Terra set his laptop on the table in front of them, also noted the pleased comment about Sora's choice of lunch food before he changed topics.

"The Sectionals videographer was kind enough to send me an advance digital copy of the senior mens long."

That got his attention. Straightening, Roxas glanced at his coach, over to Sora and quickly back at Terra. For his part, Sora was leaning forward, forearms flat on the table, eyeing the screen with eagerness.

Roxas, not so much.

"Uh, do we have to do this here?"

 _And, like, in front of the human personification of Friendship is Magic, for that matter?_

Ignoring Roxas, Terra was booting the video analysis system the rink had paid a small fortune for a few years back.

"If Sora does well at Nationals, he very well may move up to senior next year. This will be educational for both of you."

Yeah, but only embarrassing for one of them, Roxas suspected, bracing to see a digital version of himself in his long program's opening pose in short order.

He got an earful of the six minute group warmup announcement instead.

"We can probably skip this part," he said, holding back a sigh. "Pretty sure I landed everything."

"It's not your jumps I want to revisit."

Eyes still fixed on the computer screen, Terra lifted a finger to the trackpad to pause it at the exact moment when the camera caught Roxas twirling his finger at Axel Cendres half a minute in.

"Feel like explaining this to me?"

"Sure." Salad abandoned, Roxas crossed his arms and leaned back into his chair, legs straight and knees locked beneath the table. "The guy's a cocky jerk-off and someone had to tell him."

Beneath a shock of auburn hair that looked in dire need of a PR stylist in its own regard, Sora's eyes widened at the insult. Beside him, Terra merely shook his head.

"Not professional. You know the warmup is just as much about ignoring other skaters' mind games as it is preparing to compete."

Roxas scoffed.

"If you think that was the reason I fell out of the back end of that combo, it wasn't."

"What I think is it was a poor choice, given how many people were in the audience." With a final scan of Roxas' paused image, Terra began scrolling through the rest of the warmup footage, even past the beginning few seconds of Roxas' program. "You have an image to maintain, as I expect does Axel."

For lack of an adequate comeback, this time Roxas chewed on his tongue a little but kept quiet. What he wondered, however, was how far Axel Cendres would go to maintain that picture of an on-ice bad-ass he seemed hell-bent on portraying. His choice of program music and simple, unbeaded costuming was one thing. Kissing a competitor after taunting his technique in the locker room? It seemed a bit of a stretch, so what the heck had that been, exactly?

His digital doppelgänger was setting up for his triple axel. The three of them watched as he stepped forward, arms pulling back, take-off knee bending then straightening as he took off. One, two, three and a half revolutions and he was back on the ice, the jumps height modest, its landing run-out a little slow but not terrible by any stretch of the imagination. It'd been one of his better attempts, actually, yet Cendres had still mocked it. Remembering the exchange just made Roxas wish he'd had the balls to sucker punch him for even considering the comment.

Or maybe just kiss him harder. Thoroughly fuck his life at the moment for even somewhat wanting a repeat of that.

Roxas wasn't naive enough to believe Terra was going to sit and let them watch his program without comment. Sure enough, he stopped the recording, then moved the timed scroller back to Roxas' axel take-off before splitting the screen, re-loading the video, and pausing playback at the beginning of Axel's program.

 _No. No, no, no to the nth degree. Do not want._

"You both do your axels at a similar angle to the camera so this comparison should be helpful."

Oh, he did _not_ just say that.

Sora's eager expression implied otherwise. A matter of seconds later, Terra had both videos lined up to the jump's take-off. A few setting tweaks and the Roxas Strife and Axel Cendres of a week earlier were performing the same jump side-by-side like a duo of janky looking same-sex pairs skaters.

It was official: technological advancement could go straight to hell without passing go or collecting $200.

To add insult to injury, Terra restarted both videos.

"Remember the skid we talked about that initiates rotation? Take a look at Axel's left foot the moment before his blade leaves the ice."

Grudgingly, Roxas did. And, yeah, he saw the difference, in both height and trajectory. He just wasn't willing to admit it. Still slouching in his seat, Roxas added a scowl to his growing collection of physical subordinations.

"So, he's got a good take-off but crappy everything else. All his landings are so scratchy he's lucky he's skating to something loud enough to muffle them."

Terra seemed nonplussed.

"I looked at the components breakdown, and he did get marked down for the rougher landings." Terra nodded, willing to concede this one thing in Roxas' favor. "But the grades of execution on his technical elements score more than made up for it. You eked out that top placement by a point-difference so small it was a win that was essentially negligible. The placements could've been swapped without anything even close to a public outcry."

He played the videos again while Roxas stewed silently next to him.

"And this should be irrelevant when it comes to wanting to improve your own jumps anyway. I need to know you're strong enough before I even consider adding the quads you've been practicing into your programs next season."

At the mention of quad jumps, Sora visibly brightened.

"You'd really have a chance of beating Riku Asahi with a quad in your program!"

This time, Roxas couldn't suppress the eye-roll.

"No one's come close to Riku's scores since Ven retired. At this point, he's got Nationals in the bag so it's pretty pointless to waste time speculating."

Abruptly, Terra stood. Without a word, he snapped his laptop shut and took a step away from their table as both boys looked up with surprised expressions. It was Roxas who Terra addressed when he next spoke, however.

"If that's the mindset you're going to approach your training with for the next two months, quit while you're ahead and do something more productive with your time and money."

As Terra leveled an incensed look at him, Roxas stared back, stunned. Terra was about as low-key as coaches got, was also usually tolerant of Roxas' caustic remarks. Now, he just looked exasperated, possibly angry.

"I was joking," Roxas said, brows rising a little as he eyed his coach and tried to get a better read on him.

"Then maybe it's time to grow up. You're almost twenty; start acting like it." Terra's expression softened only marginally as he turned to Sora. "And you should get prepped for your next on-ice session. I'll take Kairi first so you have a chance to warm up before we run through your short."

Sora nodded, opened his mouth like he was planning to respond even, but Terra had already turned and was well on his way out of the lunch room. This left Roxas more or less alone, beyond his half-eaten salad and a junior level boy with levels of optimism that were objectively grating, not to mention two more freestyle sessions that afternoon, his requisite daily stretching, and some off-ice cardio a little later in the evening.

Plus that kiss he still had to mentally make sense of over the next few months leading up to Nationals. Fun.


	2. A Better Son

002: A BETTER SON

* * *

 **October 2014**

The coach's lounge was not a place Roxas visited often. Reserved for the full-time on-ice staff and the occasional guest coach or visiting choreographer, the lounge was also off-limits to most Radiant Edge Figure Skating Club members.

He'd seen glimpses of it before. Throughout the years, he'd passed down the second floor hall that housed not just the lounge but also the rink's administrative offices that kept the facility running in various capacities. Sometimes, he'd cross paths with coaches as they entered and exited the lounge, the door held open just long enough to glimpse a few distinguishing features, a couch and leather chairs in front of wall lockers, tables identical to those in the lunchroom, a flatscreen TV monitor on the far wall. Nothing special on its face, there were few reasons a skater would be summoned upstairs by one of the skating instructors.

If the coaches needed something, they usually just made the trip down to the club room at rink level, or asked one of the facility's admin workers to do it for them.

There were a few reasons to receive an invite to the coach's lounge though, and these were what RE-FSC skaters worked themselves to the bone for. To most at their club, a request to meet upstairs was surpassed in significance only by winning a major skating title. In reality, however, one often correlated with the other.

Although he'd expected to be called up at some point, the heady feeling of accomplishment when Terra told him to meet upstairs over lunch one otherwise unremarkable weekday morning was still unparalleled in his mind. Without question, this invite set the stage for a new era in his skating career, meant the coaches were taking seriously his chances of success in the sport. To Roxas, it also brought back memories of those who'd made a name for themselves years ago, when he was still one of many aspiring younger skaters still striving to distinguish himself. Every skater wanted this, if they were truly dedicated, each of them working toward the same ultimate goal. Among the injured or eventual quitters who'd gone off to college or some other non-skating endeavor, he was one of the few who'd beaten the odds and progressed to a level not many managed to get to, let alone maintain for any great length of time.

With one hour between him and lunch, it was harder to focus than usual, even during the group warm-up Aqua headed that marked the beginning of a session dedicated exclusively to turns and edges. Once she'd dismissed them, he'd run through both competitive programs and this season's exhibition piece in turn, marking the sites where he'd usually execute jumps and spins as he let the music and choreography guide him, making each sequence of intricate footwork appear effortless.

All the while, Roxas found himself scanning the banners that hung from the ceiling above him, gaze rising to the names of the club's various National and World Champions whenever he took a moment to slow his on-ice movements. This time when he spotted the Strife surname hanging at the far end of the rink with other, more recent title-holders, Roxas imagined the letters of his own name across it, rather than his brother's.

This abiding distraction was probably why both competitive programs felt hollow to him, lacking intention, as though he were simply going through the motions without making the most of each musical transition. At least this was a session where jumps were prohibited. If he'd made attempts to launch himself into multi-rotational elements without mentally preparing for each before take-off, the aftermath would have been laughable.

Or maybe just painful.

He was the first to wrap up the session, securing a blade guard onto his free foot while gliding toward the exit on the other. He made a quick pit stop in the club room to collect a bag with his shoes, a snack, and various supplies. Skates still on, Roxas headed off toward the elevators, past a second practice rink with its handful of long-skirted ice dancers in the middle of a group lesson. Sparing a second to wave at Olette and one more to scan the wall display of National and World Championship medals won by past Radiant Edge skaters, Roxas ultimately picked up his pace. With his time now taken up with more than just lessons since he'd become the club's head coach, Roxas knew Terra appreciated punctuality, practically demanded it.

By the time he got upstairs, there was just one other person in the lounge. It was someone familiar, but that someone wasn't Terra.

Surprised, Roxas paused in the doorway. For a moment, he simply observed the young man seated on a couch at the far end of the room, one splinted foot propped up on a leather ottoman cushion in front of him, the lower half of his face hidden behind a few sheets of computer paper. His gaze rose, eyes lively upon seeing Roxas, grin immediately recognizable.

Shutting the door with a quiet click, Roxas took a few steps closer to him, then hesitated.

"I didn't know you'd be here today."

The smile remained as Ventus beckoned Roxas over.

"Terra asked me to come in."

He rotated the papers as Roxas approached and took a seat next to him, taking care not to jostle the ottoman or the leg resting on it. Up close, the lined columns and rows were easy to identify as judging protocols. After competitions, each skater received a detailed markup of their program elements, notations made by the technical caller if any jumps were under-rotated or deemed to be wrong edge take-offs. The points were then added or subtracted from each element's base value, which reflected how well a skater had executed it. Roxas had seen plenty of these throughout his competitive career, even if he'd never bothered to scrutinize them closely. Lower level competitions had all been relatively straightforward for him - if he stayed on his feet for both programs, he generally won the events he'd entered, so there'd been little need to study the finer details of scoring. What he lacked in natural jumping ability, Roxas more than made up for in notable flexibility that choreographers took full advantage of when deciding what spins and transitional movements to add to his programs each season.

As Ven set the papers on his lap, Roxas noted the official US Figure Skating logo on the top of the front page. Unsurprisingly, these were the protocols from the senior mens short and long programs from the three West Coast regional events that had taken place over the past week. The top four skaters at each competition qualified for Pacific Sectionals which, in turn, was the final step to get to US Nationals.

Although this was the first time Roxas had been invited into the coach's lounge to discuss competition results, Ven had once been a regular here. Ever since he'd begun winning senior titles, Roxas had watched Ven and Terra head off the ice together with a mixture of aspiration and envy. Ven had also been accompanied by head coach Eraqus before he'd retired and Terra had taken over. Years ago, Eraqus had personally taken Ven under his tutelage and groomed him into a champion, not to mention their country's top hope for an Olympic medal.

Now, apparently, it was Roxas' turn, although whether it was truly deserved remained another matter, one that Roxas hadn't yet fully worked out. Priorities had shifted in the past few months, the seniority of Radiant Edge's figure skaters thrown suddenly into question in the wake of Ven's injury.

Beside him, Ven moved, pushing himself up a little straighter on the couch, and Roxas' eyes traveled to his right leg. Bound in medical bandages over a large splint that stabilized the back of Ven's ankle, Roxas felt his own landing leg ache at the mere thought of the pain his brother had endured after a pair of surgeries, plus one intense round of physical therapy between them.

The second surgery had been unexpected, hastily scheduled. It'd also coincided with the week of Regionals, thus fresh enough for Roxas to still feel guilty about not having been present for his brother in some capacity. It'd also required Ven to withdraw from two Grand Prix events, leaving him incapable of making a run at defending his Grand Prix Final title, his publicist's declaration that he'd be back next season and even stronger than before a mere posturing move without any bite to it, in Roxas' view.

Because Roxas wasn't dumb. And a ruptured Achilles wasn't something most athletes could overcome, especially not after suffering complications from one surgery that'd ultimately necessitated a second. The chances that Ven would ever land quads on that ankle again were astronomically low. Without quad jumps, he wasn't going to challenge for the top placements internationally, let alone hold his own against the up and comers who'd been nipping at his heels since he'd won his first National title two years earlier.

Alone in the lounge together, Roxas wanted to acknowledge the extent of this injury that everyone except Ven and Terra themselves were still claiming was a temporary setback, to say _something_ that indicated he gave a shit about what his brother was going through, to let him somehow know he'd be there to support Ven in whatever capacity he needed him.

"Terra must be running late," Roxas said instead, eyes flickering to a nearby wall clock before returning to Ven's leg.

For a moment, heavy silence. Then, a response Roxas hadn't anticipated.

"I'm sorry I didn't get to see you compete last week."

The words were spoken quietly, but the feeling set behind them hit Roxas full-on. He looked up and caught Ven's measured gaze. For a moment, both brothers looked at one another, Roxas reeling with a host of warring emotions, Ven with a more tranquil expression.

Roxas looked away first. He shrugged, then glanced down at his feet before reaching toward the top of one skate boot to tug at the double knot of his lace.

"You didn't miss much."

A soft, reproachful sound filtered over from Ven's side of the couch, but Roxas remained stubbornly focused on unlacing his boot.

"Roxas, you won..."

He shrugged again, the action more of a jerky spasm, then used the blade guard on one foot as leverage against the other to push his foot out of the boot. The skate tipped onto its side on the floor in front of him.

"All the big names had byes through to Sectionals, so it wasn't like it was difficult. The guy who won pewter fell twice. There were junior skaters with higher scores."

Leaning forward, he peeled a gel sock off his ankle, letting it fall to the floor near his skate, then went to work unlacing the other boot.

"Don't downplay a strong win at any qualifying competition," Ven chided. "It gets your name in front of the judges and marks you as a contender for a medal at Nationals. It's also in the judges' best interests to send reliably consistent skaters to Worlds."

Roxas knew this but said nothing, allowing his brother's words to settle between them. In truth, he shouldn't have been scared about competing at Regionals. He'd only needed a fourth place finish to qualify for Sectionals and he'd known going in that the field would be weak. Same to get to Nationals, although the competitors would present more of a challenge.

But being a senior level skater felt different than junior, novice, intermediate, and juvenile, all levels where he'd seen considerable success on the national stage. There were fewer spectators who came to watch the practices and competitive events for those levels, and the spotlight had always been more focused on his older brother. With Ven out for the season, and probably far longer, Roxas had begun feeling pressure to live up to the Strife family's athletic legacy. No one expected him to win Nationals on his first go, but making a stupid mistake at Sectionals that kept him from qualifying? That was an outcome he wasn't sure he'd be able to live down.

Not when he'd worked so hard to learn jumps that had come more naturally to Ven. Not when his parents were flooding the rink with a literal fortune to ensure their three youngest had the best coaches money could get them. He sure as heck hadn't sacrificed all the things normal teenagers took for granted just to screw up when the stakes were at their highest. He _had_ to qualify for Nationals. This wasn't an optional, 'maybe next year' kind of deal for him.

As these thoughts coalesced into the pit of his stomach, suddenly an invite to the coach's lounge didn't seem so desirable.

His thoughts were interrupted as the lounge door clicked open. Terra entered, skates off and lunch in hand. With a quick nod of acknowledgement, he moved a nearby table and chair over to them. He headed over to the TV monitor, swung it on its mounting to face the direction they were seated, eyes falling on Roxas.

"Going forward, we'll be meeting after each of your competitions to review the judge protocols and compare the levels and grades of execution you received to your closest competitors. This will help us determine if any elements in your program need to be altered before you compete again."

Terra took a seat, then turned on the TV, and Ven deposited the protocols onto the table between them. Roxas, in turn, pulled off his second skate and placed it between his legs, blade end up, then rummaged in his bag for a towel. Working it over the blade until the remnant slush from his last practice was wiped away entirely, he watched as the screen in front of him flickered on and an image of the host club's rink appeared, preceding a bold font announcing one of the West Coast regional championship events that qualified skaters for Pacific Coast Sectionals. It faded, replaced by the event name as the video feed transitioned to the first group's six minute warmup.

Terra turned to Ven.

"You have the results?"

Ven nodded, reaching for one sheet of paper in particular, which he slid across the table to Terra.

"There was no movement in the top four between the short and long on the Northwest Pacifics list. Central Pacifics were more of a mixed bag. Second and fourth place after the short didn't end up qualifying." He glanced at Terra. "I'm not sure whether their programs are worth reviewing if they won't be at Sectionals."

Terra took a bite of his wrap, forearms resting on the table as he scanned the placements list. Eventually, he nodded.

"We'll keep an eye on them if they're assigned a B international next season or do well at any of the summer club events." He began to fast-forward through the first group's six minute warm-up. "At this stage, let's focus on who Roxas will be directly competing against next month, including those who received byes. Riku Asahi will also be at Sectionals since his second Grand Prix event isn't until the end of November."

For the next thirty minutes, the three of them watched the short and long programs of skaters who had qualified for Sectionals out of the Northwest region. Roxas kept quiet as he ate the sandwich he'd brought, just listening as his brother and head coach passed comments between one another and Terra scribbled out some notes on the side of the judge protocols. These were mostly questions he'd bring up with a technical specialist, maybe even a gold level judge if one was available. Roxas had learned long ago that what spectators saw at competitions was meant to be a finished product, a culmination of the work of multiple people. The effectiveness of unseen months of collaborative effort was ultimately conveyed via his success or failure in the span of a handful of minutes at center ice. No pressure.

Once all four shorts and longs had been viewed and discussed, they turned to the next regional competition, set to repeat the process. Skates now stowed and sandwich eaten, Roxas found his attention drifting, unaccustomed to sitting still for so long, especially at the rink. Before the next video launched, Roxas stood up and looked at Terra.

"Is there a yoga mat I can use while we watch these? My hamstring's bugging me."

As Terra gave him instructions on how to open a communal locker and Roxas plodded over to it, Ven's expression grew troubled.

"Which leg?"

"Landing."

The word came out muffled as Roxas stuck his head deeper into the cluttered mess of a locker. It contained an assortment of training tools, from resistance bands and ankle attachments that helped encourage proper in-air jump positions to a handful of metal plates with rubber treads that simulated the feeling of spinning off-ice. He grabbed a flexible strap, then dug out a rolled up mat, noting Ven's hawkish look as he made his way back and spread the mat out in front of the couch without comment.

"Did you fall this morning?"

Roxas shook his head.

"Got a cramp during my catch-foot spin." He found a comfortable position on his back, secured his foot in the strap, gripping both ends in his hands so he could pull his right leg toward his face. "Go ahead and start the next video," he told Terra. "I can see fine from this angle."

So it went, through the next two short programs, Roxas working out the kink in his hamstring and increasing the proximity between his leg and upper body with each successive stretch as Ven made comments about any unusual technical or components scoring reflected in the protocols and Terra jotted down the occasional note. By the time Terra skipped to the third skater of interest, Roxas had abandoned the foot strap and repositioned himself into an open-leg upright position, close to a center split but not yet initiating a genuine stretch. Leaning forward, he propped his elbows on the floor, chin resting in the palms of his hands and eyes rising to the TV screen as he noted the unusual height and garish, slicked back hair of the skater who'd just taken the ice.

And… were those facial tattoos?

Without a word, Roxas watched the program. Hot mess would've been a generous understatement of a description for it.

Yeah, he'd seen worse, and the guy had technically managed to stay upright even though each jump was botched in a different way. There were just so many issues with the performance as a whole, from spin positions not held quite long enough that traveled when they were meant to be centered to hopped three-turns during the step sequence. Some of it looked like mere nerves, other parts more like technique not fully developed. It left Roxas wondering how someone could so effortlessly rotate triples when it looked like he hadn't yet mastered the most basic of skating skills.

He glanced up at Ven and Terra.

"Who's this yokel?"

With a quick survey of the papers in front of him, Ven was the one who answered.

"Axel Cendres, skating as an independent. He placed eighth in the short."

Mm, okay.

Roxas wasn't impressed.

"And why am I being subjected to his program?"

"He qualified for Sectionals." As Ven spoke, he shuffled through the pile of papers again, before locating the one he'd been seeking, eyes lowering so he could scan the page. "Here." He held the sheet up. "He scored the highest overall total in the long and moved up to third after a few others fumbled."

Huh.

Roxas considered this for a moment, gaze traveling back to the TV in time to see the guy end his performance with an awkward wave to the crowd instead of the customary bow, before skating toward the boards to convene in the kiss and cry with a coach Roxas didn't recognize.

With a small shrug, Roxas reached for his feet and leaned forward into a fuller stretch, chest pressing against the floor, neck turned to one side so he could rest his cheek against the mat.

So, he reasoned, the judges must've been in a giving mood with the technical side of his long program, or else the guy got lucky that other skaters made mistakes. Probably a little of both, actually.

Whatever.

As they finished watching the final short program and started viewing the longs, Roxas let Ven and Terra debate the scores the guy, this Axel Cendres, had received on his jumps while he continued his stretching regimen and offered input only when he was directly asked to provide it.

And while both brother and coach spent far more time discussing the elements in Axel Cendres' programs than any of the other Sectionals qualifiers, Roxas didn't see much cause for concern.

Frankly, there were bigger things to worry about on the road to his first senior Nationals. While Riku Asahi was definitely one of them, Axel Cendres wasn't in the same league, as far as Roxas was concerned. Not even close.


	3. I See Fire

003: I SEE FIRE

* * *

 **November 2014  
**

Roxas was having a moment, albeit not a great one. After a clean short, he was in a good position heading into the day's long program. The spectators, although more modest in number than at Junior Worlds and Junior Nationals last season, were enthusiastic; they'd been generous with cheers and applause throughout each skater's program. He'd gotten a good sleep the night before, and he stepped onto the final group's six minute warmup knowing he had put in the requisite training to execute a strong performance if he kept his mind in the game.

After a decade and a half on ice, Roxas had not only spent most of his life working up to this, he was also as physically prepared for it as anyone else in the competition.

Mentally, though? That was another matter, and he'd never been more terrified to skate a four and a half minute program.

After stumbling out of his first jump, one that he could usually land in his sleep, the vague psychological discomfort that had been hovering over him all day fully took hold. It materialized in the form of an unforgiving vice at the base of his throat, sent a nervy sensation circulating out into his limbs, making his legs feel like foreign appendages.

Dead weight. Complete dissociation.

Though he'd been in competitive pressure situations much more intense than this, Roxas was at a mental impasse. He veered from his warm-up routine, one that dictated moving on to other elements to ensure ample time to complete each jump in turn, retraced his setup, and attempted the triple toe again.

This time, he didn't flip out of the landing; he full-out popped the jump into a double — and a split second before none other than last year's US National champion bore down on his same location, setting up a jump of his own.

Giving him a wide berth, Roxas couldn't help but note the height, the flurry of tight rotation, the smooth run-out on his competitor's landing edge. The guy had landed a _quad_ toe, with more ease and panache than he'd just managed a sloppy double that was more befitting of a pre-juvenile level skater than a senior. And Riku Asahi wasn't the sole possessor of an impressive jump arsenal. Every one of the men in this final warmup group of six skaters had a real shot at scoring well at Nationals. Same for some in the penultimate group, if they skated clean programs. But only the top four could qualify out of Pacific Sectionals.

For a moment, Roxas thought he was going to be physically ill.

A familiar voice called his name. It lifted him out of his mental paralysis and redirected his attention to the boards. Locating Terra, Roxas glided over, careful to avoid another skater's repeat attempts at cutting him off, even though he wasn't even setting up for a jump. An actual asshole if ever there was one: Seifer Almasy, everyone.

Dressed in a pair of wool pants below a crisp Oxford button-up, laminate coaching credentials hanging down from a cotton strap around his neck, Terra was standing at the boards just adjacent the kiss and cry area by the other coaches who had skaters on the warmup. As Roxas neared, he saw Terra lean over, retrieving a small bottle of water and a pack of tissues from his side bag. He placed both on the boards in front of him, waiting until Roxas had taken a sip of water before speaking.

"You seem nervous."

Roxas shrugged, ears abuzz with the unintelligible sounds filtering in from spectators in the stands above him. His gaze skirted back toward the ice surface, catching movement. It was Seifer, executing a solid triple-triple jump combo.

Suddenly, his mouth tasted sour, tongue dry despite the recent swig of water.

"I guess."

"Hey… look at me."

When Terra's directive didn't turn Roxas' head, he reached across the boards, placing his hands on both sides of Roxas' sequined shoulders.

" _Roxas_."

This time, Roxas met his gaze.

"I don't know what's going on in your head, but clear it. Right now."

Terra's voice took a more authoritative tone, and Roxas blinked, for the first time really processing the words his coach was saying.

"Stop thinking about the other skaters. Don't watch them warm up or look at the audience. Focus on yourself. Understood?"

Roxas nodded.

Terra released his shoulders.

"You're muscling your upper body as you take off. Classic over-rotation. That's the only reason you missed those two jumps. Keep your arms strong and checked until your toe's fully picked in. Go do another."

Without a word, Roxas turned away from Terra and did what he was told. This time, his landing was solid, the rotation effortless with the proper body position. By the time Roxas looked back at the boards, Terra was nodding approval as he waved him back over.

With a spray of light snow a few inches from the boards, Roxas came to a stop, then took the tissue Terra was offering him.

"How'd that feel?"

"Better."

He dabbed his nose a little, then balled the Kleenex.

"Good." Terra offered a curt nod. "Put those first two jumps out of mind. Go run both step sequences, then work on spins for the rest of the warmup. You've got about three minutes left."

Roxas knew what Terra was doing by steering him away from jumps, even if he'd have preferred to run through each in turn and ensure his feet were adequately under him. Footwork and spins came easily; they were aspects of skating he truly enjoyed, elements in which he could lose himself. Although it wasn't ideal not to warm up each jump, Roxas was well-trained, and it was more probable than not that muscle memory would kick in at the start of a program he'd run through daily for the past five months if he could manage to keep calm.

With a quick nod of his own, Roxas skated off to the far end of the rink, marked the jump that immediately preceded his serpentine sequence, and entered the first turn on a deep knee. By the time he finished both sequences and had gotten to his first spin, he could hear familiar voices in the audience, Radiant Edge's own personal cheering section, composed of skaters who'd already competed, some parents, and those who'd come just to support their training mates. Although he didn't look up, he knew Olette was there watching, along with her dance partner. His parents would be somewhere nearby too, maybe in the club level seating. Plus Ven.

Suddenly, there it was. Finally, a flicker of the enjoyment he usually derived from having an audience. It superseded the anxiety that still lingered, a natural result of pre-competition jitters, ever present but more manageable now that he'd gotten settled.

By the time the warmup ended, Roxas was feeling much more like his usual self. He'd trained his whole life for this. It was his dream, plus Ven's legacy passed on to him by an untimely injury. Even Seifer's whispered jab about his noticeable lack of jumping passes flowed in one ear and out the other. Insubstantial.

Roxas was in the zone; at this point, nothing could shake him.

Because skating was his birthright, plain and simple. He had this.

o - o

The changing rooms were mostly occupied by the time Roxas exited the kiss and cry area in search of a quieter space. He poked his head into three before locating an area he deemed suitable.

Just ten minutes, he told himself. Ten minutes to himself, to collect his thoughts, to make an attempt at dispersing the nerves that should have been long gone by now. He'd skated well, had felt the music, hadn't bungled any jumps, and his score had reflected this. With one skater remaining in the final group and him sitting in third place behind Riku Asahi and Seifer Almasy, he'd done his job and made the cut for Nationals. A bronze or pewter placement mattered less at the moment than simply being above the qualifying threshold, and it was clear that Terra had been pleased with his performance. Not generally demonstrative, he had broken from his standard routine to wrap an arm briefly around Roxas' shoulders and offer an approving squeeze as Roxas' segment score had been announced, followed up by the combined total, which had put him into second behind Riku Asahi who'd skated first after the warmup.

They'd waited by the boards just long enough to watch Seifer surpass him in the standings, a close call but one where his technical mark had more than made up for a lower artistic, before Terra had dismissed him with a reminder to be ready for the coming medal ceremony and podium photos.

At first, Roxas had simply found a bench out of the way but still down at rink level. He'd removed his skates, stretched the arches of his feet and performed a few pliés to loosen up, hoping the focus on a post-skate warm-down would provide a distraction.

It really hadn't. The anxious feeling persisted long after it should have dissipated. Where there'd been a feeling of elation after winning Regionals, now he felt only a strange sense of tension in the knowledge that two months from now he'd have to manage this same feat again.

Except next time, it'd be in front of an audience in the tens of thousands, on national television, with commentators parsing his every element and comparing it to Ven's past performances to see if he measured up. And with skaters like Riku, Seifer, and a handful of other up-and-coming qualifiers from the Midwest and Eastern sections, a third place showing at Pacifics wasn't going to cut it for a medal on the national stage, even though he'd skated cleanly.

Scanning the area long enough to see Terra engaged in conversation with Kairi and a guy he didn't recognize, Roxas had scooped up his skates in a loose grip, blades first, and retreated further down the corridor under the spectator stands in search of someplace more private.

Finally locating an empty changing area, Roxas slipped inside, deposited his skates on a bench at the far wall, then ducked into the bathroom area. He made a quick beeline for the paper towel dispenser with the intention of wiping down his blades so there'd be less chance of them rusting in the interim between his freeskate and the medal ceremony.

At the sink, he hesitated, taking in his reflection with a scrutinizing stare. Face still flushed from his program, Roxas considered the look of resigned exhaustion without empathy, before unhooking the clasp that held the choker portion of his costume in place at his neck. He reached for a paper towel, then twisted the sink's knob, wetting one end before glancing up again as he dabbed the towel under one eye, then the other. He smiled once, the same expression of humble appreciation he offered at the end of his programs when he took a moment to acknowledge the audience before bowing.

It was well-practiced, effortless after all the time spent perfecting it. It was also fake as hell, and it made his stomach roil with the knowledge that this was yet another something that came more naturally to Ven.

So had winning a medal on his first trip to Nationals, point in fact, a rare feat that Roxas didn't hold out much hope he'd come anywhere close to copying, unless he spontaneously mastered at least one quad in the next two months. That wasn't so much unlikely as it was delusional.

Stomach still churning, Roxas debated forcing himself to vomit as a means to settle it, but quickly abandoned the thought. He might've gotten away with such antics under Eraqus' tutelage, but Terra noticed everything, at least as it directly related to his top skater's wellbeing. Maybe if Ven were still competing, still the primary focus of the club's coaching efforts, something of this nature would be overlooked. Not now, though. Not when all eyes were on him.

Hands bracing both sides of white beveled porcelain, Roxas leaned slightly forward, gulped in a breath, and tried to calm himself. He held it for a moment, then exhaled slowly, elbows straightening as he transferred his weight back to his legs.

Blue eyes met green behind him via the reflection in the mirror.

Roxas froze, for a moment simply staring at the man who was looking back at him, stance a little awkward, expression a bit self-conscious as though he'd been caught in the act of something illicit, however unintentional.

This time, Roxas' stomach did a different type of flipping. Just as unwelcome, it internally threw him and he found himself mute in front of someone he realized he recognized, if only from the HD screen of a television in the RE-FSC coach's lounge.

"Sorry." Arm rising to his head, the guy made a motion like he intended to run a hand through his hair but then stopped upon realizing that it was slicked back, more or less rigid from a generous application of hair gel. The hand hovered awkwardly for a moment, before lowering back to his side, and Roxas found himself following the movement with his eyes, fixated on long fingers that led up to a slender forearm. "I thought I might've left something in here. Do you… uh, mind?"

He made a gesture to the bathroom stall, and Roxas blinked, still mentally off-balance from the realization that this guy had been watching him in a moment when he'd felt vulnerable. Exposed, even.

Without a word, Roxas nodded, then sidestepped him, heading back toward the changing area, hand rising up to his neck to refasten the clasp on his outfit's bejeweled collar. As he took a seat and reached for his first skate, Roxas realized he hadn't grabbed any extra towels to wipe down his blades.

Well, to hell with everything at the moment, apparently.

Lips downturned in an unconscious pout, Roxas ran an index finger and his thumb across his blade, careful to avoid the sharp edges along the bottom as he tried to wipe off the larger, half-melted flakes of ice that had collected during his freeskate. He returned his plastic guard to the blade and repeated the process with the other skate, trying to keep his mind off the man shuffling around the bathroom area one room over.

Once cleaned, Roxas went to work putting his skates back on. He had one boot halfway laced by the time the red-haired colossus reappeared. Keeping his head down, nimble fingers securing his laces over each skate rung in a criss-cross pattern, Roxas hoped the guy would pick up on the fact that he wanted to be left alone.

He didn't.

Instead, long legs shuffled closer, and Roxas was treated to an enticing visual of form-fitting street clothes, to jeans that hugged what he could only assume were two well-defined calves. Muscles developed during the course of training were lean, Roxas knew, but powerful.

He swallowed hard and missed the top skate rung by a mile as the same deep voice started speaking again.

"Guess I had the wrong room. They all look the same from the outside, ya know?"

Roxas glanced up. Initially tempted to ask what the guy was looking for, he came to the quick conclusion that there was nothing that he gave fewer fucks about at present. Without a word, he knotted his first skate and fastened his pant leg stirrup under the skate boot.

Apparently not content to take the hint and run with it, Roxas was treated to second string of words.

"I saw your freeskate. Wasn't really my style, in honesty, but you sure were on today."

He heard the smile encompassed in the comment without needing to look up, could likewise imagine the rueful expression that came with the latter half of the statement. In virtually any other situation, it would have been automatic to return the gesture, to accept the praise with grace and offer a courteous smile of his own.

There was just something he found irritating about the wording of it all.

Oh, it wasn't _his_ style? He was on just _today_ , apparently?

Pretentious. As. Fuck. That's what it was, especially coming from a no-name skater with an unknown coach, who boasted next to no on-ice finesse, plus costumes that he was one hundred percent positive had been bought off-the-rack.

Curbing the urge to say something scathing, Roxas bit the inside of his cheek and muttered a perfunctory word of thanks under his breath.

"By the way, I'm Axel. I competed in an earlier group."

God, _why_ was this guy still talking? It seemed like someone couldn't spot a hint, even if it up and bit him on his shapely ass.

With a light sigh, Roxas finished lacing his second skate, stirrup abandoned around the top of his ankle as he straightened and fixed a look directly at Axel.

"I know who you are."

The statement seemed to throw Axel for a loop, his expression an open book of surprise.

"You do?"

Roxas nodded.

"Axel Cendres. Third at Central Pacific Regionals."

"Right." Axel blinked, then recovered enough to shoot off a toothy grin. "Good memory."

Yeah, whatever.

Roxas leaned forward again, this time fiddling with a line of Swarovski crystals along his pants ankle.

"Hey, so…"

Out of the corner of his eye, Roxas saw Axel sidle closer. Heat colored his already flushed cheeks and he desperately tried to latch onto the clear fiction that it was a result of his current, inverted position on the bench.

"Since you've got all the turns and artsy-fartsy stuff down, I was wondering if you had any tips."

Final stirrup secured, Roxas debated standing. Even in skates, there was no way he'd match Axel in height. That knowledge alone might have irked him, if not for the distraction of Axel's most recent comment, which seemed to have come out of left field.

"Tips…"

His voice was flat as he echoed the word. Was this guy being a full load of serious?

"Yeah, you know…"

Axel shoved his hands into his pockets, inked cheeks on prominent display beneath an open expression that implied an expectation for Roxas to take the lead from here.

Except, actually, Roxas didn't in fact know what Axel was going on about, nor was he interested in playing twenty questions to find out.

When it became clear that Roxas was set on maintaining his stony silence, Axel looked down, expression subtly clouding before he stole another glance at the young man seated in front of him.

"You know," he tried again, "like how to make your program match the music so the crowd really gets into it. That kind of stuff."

Roxas scoffed an instant before a light rapping sounded at the changing room door. It opened soon after, admitting Olette, who smiled when she spotted him.

"There you are. Terra's looking for you. He said to let you know the photographer's upstairs."

Roxas stood, running a deliberate hand through hair that, though lightly styled, was in no way the slick mess of a hairspray helmet that Axel was sporting, the damn novice.

He glanced at Olette, then smoothed his costume from his waist down both pant legs until it was back in perfect place, beads accentuating his body's natural lines, a custom fit with a price tag that corresponded to it.

"Okay, coming."

He passed Axel without a glance, settled comfortably into the one-armed embrace Olette offered as he reached her, only then pausing to address the man behind him.

"Here's a tip," he offered, "It's called artistry, and takes literal years to master."

Translation, loud and clear as he made his exit: _Hey, pal - don't quit your day job anytime in the near future_.


	4. Greek Tragedy

004: GREEK TRAGEDY

* * *

 **December 2015**

"You have _got_ to be shitting me."

Two minutes earlier, Terra had entered the club room. Sweaty shirt half off, Roxas had paused to watch his coach tape a single sheet of paper to the inside of the door. Offering a quick smile that seemed more directed at Olette than Roxas, Terra merely raised a subtle brow when Roxas' gaze met his before departing. No further explanation.

Sixty seconds ago, a few others present and seated nearby had risen and made their way to the door, expressions curious. One by one, they gradually dispersed, except for Olette. Olette had stayed, her eyes traveling down, taking in each line of text in turn.

T-minus 30 seconds, and she'd turned to Roxas.

"Did you know about this before today?"

With a sigh, Roxas had stood, wobbling a little on skates half-unlaced as he made his way over to her. He read the announcement once, then a second time, focusing first on the rink name, then the address under it, before sidestepping the opening door as another skater entered. Sora's bright smile was more assumed than observed as he made his way over to his locker. Roxas made a point of ignoring it anyway as he fished his cell phone out of one pocket.

Ten seconds.

He clicked through his lock screen. Pulled up a browser tab.

Five.

A basic search — four, three, two — and his suspicions were confirmed.

One.

That's when the swearing started, some out loud, most in his head.

It was official: Terra was in the active process of punishing him for that stunt on the Sectionals warmup.

Because, motherfucker, this was low.

Idly, Roxas noted Sora's reappearance as he pulled up next to him and scanned the announcement.

"Oh, wow. This is so cool!"

Turning away from Sora, Roxas shot Olette a testy look, then offered her a muttered answer, finally. Of sorts.

"God is testing me."

Or maybe just Terra, come to think.

Beside him, a flash of tousled hair as Sora literally bounced in place beside them.

"I've never been invited to an exhibition before. Not a big one, like with national level skaters at it, I mean. I've done club shows before, of course. Every spring show since I was a kid, but this is…" He paused, apparently to consider word choice, and Olette smiled back at him. "…so cool. _Yeah_."

Exasperated, Roxas lifted his eyes to the ceiling and imagined Terra dressed as Jesus looking down at him from the heavens. And laughing. That. Utter. _Bitch_. He wondered how much planning had gone into ensuring he'd be in the club room when the announcement got posted by Terra personally. This was usually a job for the admin assistants.

"But hey, Rox?" Feeling the light nudge of Sora's elbow, Roxas glanced down and tried to curb the urge to explain in explicit detail just how much he despised nicknames. Sora was looking at him, brows furrowed over the bridge of his nose. When it became clear that Roxas was waiting on him, Sora continued. "Isn't this the rink that guy you competed against at Sectionals trains at? Axel…something or another?"

Arms rising, Roxas did a flippant rendition of air quotes with a set of bent fingers.

"' _Trains_.'" He waved his phone in front of him. "That place is a shithole if the pictures are doing it any practical justice."

"Probably why they're trying to raise money." It was Olette this time, eyes returning to the announcement Roxas was now interpreting as an artfully disguised injunction. "It's probably a privately owned facility that makes most of its money from public sessions and hockey."

Yeah, so. Roxas totally didn't care what the situation was, just knew there was zero chance Terra was going to let him get out of performing this time. If it really was about his behavior at Sectionals, this was just as much about playing nice with Axel Cendres as it was volunteering for a good cause. Naminé was on the list, as was Ven, so they were more or less a package deal to ensure people were willing to show up and help generate some real money. By now, Roxas knew the Strife family drill. Why else would anyone from outside that area even consider making the trek to the middle of Central Valley podunk-California?

With a show date listed over the same weekend as the Grand Prix Final, the only saving grace in any of this for Roxas was the knowledge that Riku Asahi would be out of the country competing. Same for Seifer Almasy.

Maybe there was a god.

"It's too bad Riku Asahi won't be there. It would be so awesome to see his exhibition in person."

Sora was still taking far too enthusiastic an approach to this for Roxas' tastes. And he was excited about what, exactly? A trip that required a bare minimum of six hours crammed with other skaters into a rented Greyhound? A multi-day stay in lodgings that were more than likely sub-standard, given the region? And who knew how many hours of rehearsal loomed before them as Aqua tried to cobble together something cohesive while working with total amateurs on the fly on a single sheet of ice. They'd be lucky if they managed five hours of broken sleep throughout the entire weekend trying to pull this off.

And just like that, God was dead to him yet again.

That didn't even touch upon the fact that he'd be forced to work in some capacity with Axel Cendres. Two senior level skaters both bound for Nationals? He'd be lucky if he skirted some sort of group number duet step-out choreographed specifically for the two of them.

 _Just, gag me or put a gun to my head. Either way, make it quick because I need to die before Friday._

The plain truth of the matter was he'd thought he'd known where he and Axel stood as senior-level athletes. The kiss had thrown the usual competitive dynamic into a tailspin. Unexpected was an understatement for what it'd been. It'd left him confused. Reeling. More than a little wanting. More, now, again.

Yeah, no question. This was going to be a shitshow of epic proportions.

"This is going to be the best birthday weekend ever!"

As Sora twirled in a half-circle, then skipped back to his locker, and Olette continued grinning like a fox in a hen house as she gave her friend a gentle pat on the shoulder, Roxas noted the proximity of his and Sora's respective birthdays while low-key debating the merits of strangling a training mate.

Pros: not having to see thirty solid triple axels per session that they skated together with the realization that only a small percentage could be credited to him.

Cons: Terra. The police, maybe.

Even then, the negative was kind of tenuous, Roxas decided. Because murder or not, cops were nothing compared to what Terra was capable of meting out, and he'd just proven it. Begrudgingly, Roxas conceded the round to his coach. This had been undeniably masterful.

The bastard.

o - o

He'd been napping when the bus pulled to a stop, body inclined away from the window, Olette's shoulder serving as a makeshift pillow. At the light shudder of the ignition cutting, Roxas stirred, felt fingers gently combing through his hair. He opened his eyes to his friend's smile.

With such a familiar setup to the tour he'd been signed to last Spring, it took Roxas a moment to remember the reason for this mid-season excursion. One look out the window, a single bleary-eyed glance at the drizzle and nondescript flatlands of Central California, and he was brought straight back to reality.

Harsh.

Trying not to frown, he followed Olette's lead, retrieving the few belongings he had with him at his seat. By the time they exited, most of their entourage was already standing outside, several covering their heads with their hands or assorted articles of clothing against the light rain. Radiant Edge FSC had lent out a generous handful of skaters for this show, a spectrum of levels and disciplines, plus offered Aqua's talents as choreographer. With Terra driving up separately tomorrow and the secondary coaching staff handling skaters who'd remained back at their home rink, it was Aqua who they would look to for instructions this afternoon.

A middle-aged man and woman had emerged from the rink facilities at their arrival, probably the owners. As Aqua turned to talk to them, Roxas looked down, nudging a rock in the dirt-packed parking lot with the toe of one shoe. If the run-down building exterior was any indication of the state of its interior, he was in no rush to enter and see the rest of it.

There was also the surge of nerves at the thought of encountering Axel Cendres on his own stomping grounds. That too.

Beside him, Olette had pulled out her phone and was skimming a text message. With a light huff, she turned to Roxas.

"Looks like Hayner and Pence have a few hours to go still." She shook her head, expression a picture of mock exasperation. "I _told_ them getting through LA during rush hour was going to be impossible."

Roxas didn't say anything, just shuffled closer to the side of their ride as the driver unlatched the line of panels on the underside of the bus where their luggage was stored. Out of the corner of one eye, he saw Aqua approaching.

"Skate bags only," she called out. "The driver will take the rest of our luggage to the hotel for us."

As belongings were sorted and a variety of colorful roller bags got deposited onto the ground, Roxas saw Aqua perform a quick count, scanning the tops of heads until her gaze fell on Roxas.

"Since Hayner's still MIA, can you warm up holds and a few pattern dances with Olette?"

Roxas nodded.

Satisfied, Aqua turned to address their group as a whole.

"Seniors have the ice first, as well as Naminé. Everyone else will join me in the lobby to meet the other performers and start working through marks for the opening and closing group numbers."

Locating his Zuca bag, Roxas looked up and spotted his sister. Roller bag already in hand, Naminé was chatting with a group of girls she'd sat with for the duration of their trip — and one bouncy junior mens competitor who seemed to be particularly popular with the girls at their rink. Roxas approached this last observation with a quick eye-roll while shoving his free hand into a pocket. He quirked his elbow out just enough to let Olette weave her arm through the space he'd made for her as they headed toward the building. The prospect of getting on the ice soon made it easier to stifle his rising annoyance since it'd afford him an hour's reprieve from the Mickey Mouse Club he'd been trying to ignore since just north of Orange County. For the time being, there was no point in considering much beyond that.

"Sora." From behind him, Roxas heard Aqua again. "Go on in and get changed too. You'll be practicing with this group."

Her words registered like an ice pick straight to both temples.

 _Oh, for the love of..._

Noticing Roxas' sudden slouch, Olette nudged him.

"At least he'll keep the energy up when we start getting tired later."

Yeah, that totally wasn't something Roxas considered a positive.

Even so, he knew why Sora was getting special treatment and it was hard to begrudge him it. Sora showed promise, just as he and Ven had when they were younger. Letting a skater practice with more advanced athletes was the coaching team's way of rewarding good showings at competitions and encouraging up and comers to work harder for future events. Roxas remembered his own excitement when he'd been allowed to skate on the same sessions as Ven and the other senior competitors a few years ago. It had been a long time coming, the result of so much hard work, and it'd been exhilarating. That didn't mean he couldn't be annoyed about it on a weekend that already promised to try his patience.

Slipping into the rink's entry behind his sister and the senior girls, Roxas glanced around and assessed his new surroundings. Between scuffed flooring worn down over the decades under countless rental skate blades, dingy walls in dire need of a paint job, and a musty smell that probably wasn't mold but sure as hell did a good job mimicking it, Roxas didn't have to put much effort into finding himself thoroughly unimpressed.

And… was that Jesse McCartney filtering down to him out of low-quality speakers? Gross.

" _Heeeey_." The word was offered in a slow, lazy drawl, and all heads turned toward the rental skate counter at one side of the lobby where an attendant was seated, elbows propping his chin as he regarded their group. "You're the show talent."

Although it wasn't a question, Kairi still nodded, and Sora offered a wide smile as he answered in the affirmative. But, Roxas realized, the attendant wasn't directing his attention at either of them. In fact, it was fixed squarely on …him. The guy seemed to be studying him, assessing something intangible in a way that seemed more intense than it was politely curious.

Um.

Gaze lingering just a moment too long for Roxas' comfort, eventually the guy straightened, eyes finally releasing him as they flickered over to the other skaters.

"The locker rooms are on the left side of the rink, through there." He pointed to a set of glass double doors directly in front of them. "You can store your stuff there and use them to change and lace up." His gaze returned to Roxas. "Or whatever else you wanna get up to. I don't judge."

The arch of an eyebrow and a small, crafty smile were all it took for the blood to rush straight up his neck. Half-dragging Olette with him, Roxas was the first to reach the rink doors, leaving Sora and the others to offer a polite word of thanks in his wake.

Once inside, they were quick to split between the two closest changing rooms, Olette disappearing with the other girls while Sora trailed a few steps behind Roxas. Still on the lookout for any sign of Axel, Roxas found himself smoothing down a tuft of hair that was sticking out at an odd angle, thanks to his nap on the six hour bus ride up I-5. While there were a handful of people milling around at rink level, most of whom seemed to be assembling stage lighting, Roxas saw no sign of garish red hair, inked skin, or that lanky frame with which it should've been close to impossible to rotate triples. He was quick to slip into the changing room, still feeling more high-strung than was ideal going into a practice session.

The changing area was just as unpleasant as the lobby, and Roxas couldn't help but feel he deserved an award for managing to get changed without touching anything he didn't personally own. The last thing he needed was to contract some obscure form of the plague on the lead-up to Nationals.

Sora didn't seem quite as put-off or concerned about his continued health. He'd thrown half of his street clothes on the floor, then plopped down on a bench to pull up skate socks.

"This place sure has a retro feel to it. Do you think it was built in the 50s or 60s?"

Placing a small towel on the bench before taking a seat to put his skates on, Roxas glanced across the room to where Sora had set up shop.

"Does it matter?"

With a shrug, Sora continued lacing his skates, still smiling.

"It's just so cool they invited us to help them raise money for repairs. I hope people are really generous with donations."

Roxas kept his eyes down and didn't respond, so they finished lacing in silence. Even then, Roxas could hear cheerful humming from across the room. Without a word, he grabbed his gloves and headed out, Sora playing the role of his darker haired shadow as he followed along behind him.

They were the first on the ice, unsurprising given the unnecessary level of forever girls took getting ready for virtually anything. Hair clips, clear strapped bras, and flesh colored tights — even prepping for practices involved a drawn-out ridiculous process. That didn't even account for the armloads of cosmetic products they toted with them everywhere for these types of things. By the time any of the girls emerged from their changing room, Roxas and Sora had both circled the rink several times, warming up their legs with a set of back and forward cross-rolls, then power pulls, blurred back scratch spins to simulate in-air jump positions, and a few big waltz jumps to get a feel for the ice beneath them.

Which sucked. There was no kinder way to describe it; the ice was terrible. Uneven in patches, with raised ridges littered across the surface where condensation had dripped from the ceiling, it felt more like an extreme sports obstacle course than a sheet of ice meant to be skated on. Roxas' first impression was only bolstered when he tried a jump near one side of the rink and felt like he was landing on an incline.

Not to mention the temperature. By their nature, rinks had to be cold enough to keep the ice from melting. They _didn't_ need to be frozen hellscapes with windchills rivaling the Arctic. For a moment, Roxas was reminded of the venue in Latvia where his second junior Grand Prix event had been held last season. A former Soviet country, the rink in Riga had reflected its Eastern Bloc origins with its unattractive architecture and a similar state of disrepair.

The fact that a rink like this existed in California was tantamount to unimaginable. The number of overt building code violations couldn't even be limited to the fingers of one hand, in Roxas' estimation.

And Axel Cendres _trained_ here. As the girls began filtering out onto the ice, as Kairi made a beeline for the music system with her phone and a spare aux cord and Naminé glided over to him to begin walking through their duet together, Roxas took a second to really think about the ramifications of his observation. As much as he derided Axel's background, the bald truth was that this was a guy who'd overcome a lot to earn a place at senior Nationals. No way in hell could this rink possibly retain a top coach or the other host of training professionals that had gotten him and Ven so far.

As Naminé called out to him and set up for her end of their side-by-side double axel feature, Roxas picked up speed, held a long back outside edge, and considered the possibility that someone's natural talent and persistent tenacity could supersede the years of hard work he had put into his beloved sport.

He watched for Naminé's signal, a little rise and fall of her shoulders the moment before take-off, then stepped forward with her in practiced unison for two and a half revolution jumps that were completed in under a collective second. The sounds of their toe picks meeting the ice, then the crunch of strong outside edges to finish, and Naminé stepped forward into a connecting layback spin while Roxas skated around her and performed a pair of Russian split jumps to compliment while he continued his silent contemplation.

Utter bullshit. That was his ultimate conclusion. He'd worked too hard to be surpassed by an upstart with a few hail Mary clean programs that'd been performed when it just coincidentally happened to count for something.

Olette caught up with him after their second silent run-through, her long dance skirt fluttering behind her as she switched places with Naminé. Arms outstretched, Olette situated herself in the basic killian position, adjusting Roxas' hand at her hip slightly.

"How's your Congelado?"

Rolling his eyes, Roxas guided her forward.

"Remedial."

Laughter from Olette, and Roxas found himself warming in response to it. It'd been awhile since he'd done anything dance-related, but Olette was a talented skater and their holds had always felt natural. Sora skirted out of their way as they rounded one corner, and Roxas even had to concede that his training mate wasn't all that horrible to share ice with. At least Sora didn't purposefully cut people off like that the Asahi-Almasy tag-team he'd first gotten the pleasure of experiencing a year ago at his first senior Sectionals. It could always be worse, he reminded himself. Two circles around the rink and Olette broke away near the music system housed between two hockey penalty boxes. She gestured to Kairi and got a silent okay to swap out her playlist, then retrieved her own phone as Roxas slowed to a stop beside her.

"At least humor me with the Argentine?" A flutter of lashes, then pursing of lips as Olette got into character, and Roxas finally smiled when her eyes flashed a friendly challenge. " _If_ you remember the pattern."

Above them, the rink's natural lighting cut out, replaced a second later by a blend of reds and purples as the stage crew began work on the spotlights.

Roxas met Olette's challenge with the jutting of a proud chin.

"Oh, I remember it."

It'd been one of his favorite dances to practice when he'd still been taking supplementary lessons with Aqua, and the pattern that had earned him well over the passing mark on his Gold dance test years ago. As Olette flagged down a nearby skater who'd stopped by the boards for water, Roxas pocketed his gloves and ran through the first series of steps in his head to prepare himself. Tangos required powerful leads. Even with his naturally strong edges, it'd take some effort to match Olette's years of dance training.

Phone transferred to their training mate, Kairi's music was interrupted as the aux cord switched devices. Olette skated back to him, one hand out, which Roxas clasped in his as they headed to the far end of the rink.

"Want to improv the open and close?"

Roxas nodded.

With a flourish, they separated, Olette moving a few arms lengths from him before glancing back toward the music box and signaling the skater waiting on them.

The music started with low, plucky chords, Olette's body moving in a slow sway that undulated from core to arms. It was an unusual choice for a dance that was all about sharp movements and stark lines but Roxas worked with it, his own positions more understated, directing attention more fully to his partner. Her movements sharpened as she cut the distance between them, transitioning into the dance's traditional style by the time she connected with him in a close embrace and the music swelled to indicate the start of the pattern.

The dance steps were difficult, not as quick as other compulsory patterns but requiring deep knees and edges to execute. For the first half of the pattern, Roxas found himself focusing with intensity that was almost academic as he remembered the steps and tried to get his feet under him.

A light nudge from Olette broke through his acute concentration.

"We have an audience."

Unable to look behind him and maintain the fast-paced tempo, Roxas simply nodded, head finally rising to better match Olette's as they entered the second circuit of the pattern. When Olette was on, she was radiant, back arched and chin up. Confident. Settling into the pattern, Roxas finally got into character himself, playing off the strains of the music and the sure movements of a skilled partner. The physical state of the rink no longer registered, not the chill air that misted his breaths and made the muscles in his legs ache or the other skaters who'd moved to the boards to let them dance more freely.

This was art, plain and simple. No complex jumping passes to worry about. No thoughts about how high he had to place to qualify for the next big competition or concerns about who might be watching. Let them. This was what he loved more than anything.

Performing in its purest form was what Roxas lived for.

After three circuits, Olette broke their close hold and altered their roles as she guided him to a gradual stop near center ice. With a flirty kiss to one side of his face, she twirled in his arms, then leaned back, supported on a single toe pick and Roxas' arms in one final, dramatic pose.

There was clapping from their club mates, a few exuberant whoops from Sora, and Roxas helped Olette right herself. With an exaggerated, gracious smile, she curtsied onto one knee, then shot Roxas a look that coaxed him to bow in tandem, hands clasped behind his back as he leaned forward at the waist. In that position, he turned and shared a carefree grin with Olette, unable to remember a time when he'd enjoyed skating so much, all for the simple joy of it.

It wasn't until Roxas straightened that he caught sight of it: a flash of garish red; inked skin; a lanky frame that somehow managed to pull off successful triples and defy the known laws of Physics. Up in the bleachers, bounded by the snarky rink attendant and a girl Roxas didn't recognize was Axel Cendres in all his bad-boy glory, a small smile gracing lips Roxas remembered all too well from personal experience.

And Axel Cendres wasn't just watching Roxas, no. Slow and deliberate, he was clapping.


	5. The Business of Emotion

**A/N** : Just a friendly reminder that these updates are only a portion of the entire KH figuring skating AU story. Author silvermyth is writing an alternating viewpoint to this fic from Axel's perspective (so this update is chapter 10, technically). It's called Waiting At The Boards and can be read on her FFN account. Additionally, author apiegohome is writing Sora's perspective in a story called The Tanchōzuru. Once it catches up to present day, I'll be joining in by writing Riku's POV published as a completely new fic on my account. Definitely check them out if you want a fuller view of this AU world.

* * *

005: THE BUSINESS OF EMOTION

* * *

 **December 2015**

"Hey, Roxas! Over here, bud."

Looking up from his salad, Roxas got an eyeful of flash from Pence's camera. Combined with his fatigue, the aura spots took longer than typical to blink away.

He knew better than to complain. Publicity was publicity, and any images captured this weekend would give his club plenty of the good kind. He watched as Pence studied the picture on his camera's digital screen, then repositioned the lens and lifted it back up to his face.

This time, Roxas was prepared. He smiled.

 _Fake as hell_ …

The quiet voice at the back of his mind taunted him. Ignoring it, Roxas looked down and resumed raking his fork through his salad, also known as not eating a damn thing.

On one side of him, Hayner was going to town on a burger. On the other sat Olette with what looked like the diner's attempt at a stir fry vegetable wrap.

Noticing Roxas' plate, Hayner elbowed him.

"Dude, anorexic was last year's aesthetic."

Looking up, Roxas shot him an insipid look.

"I'll start a trend toward bulimia if I actually eat it. I asked for _light_ dressing and this thing is drowning in the shit."

One table over, a loud guffaw from the skate rental attendant who Roxas had learned was the rink owners' son. Roxas stole a glance out of the corner of his eye just in time to see a smug grin from Axel. Along with some others, Sora, Kairi, and Naminé were all seated at the larger table. Each was giggling, clearly trying to stifle the noise but doing a piss poor job at it as far as Roxas was concerned. And all because of something Axel had said.

Charming.

At least when the guy got his ass handed to him at Nationals, he'd have a career in stand-up comedy to fall back on.

"Hey." Pence again. Roxas' gaze flickered across the table and landed on his friend who was pulling out his phone. "Give Olette a kiss. I'll post it to Instagram."

Greens already moved to either side of his plate like a lettuce rendition of the Red Sea parting, Roxas stabbed a soggy crouton and dragged it from one end of the yellowed plastic to the other. It left an oily vinaigrette smear in its wake.

"And I'd want to do that why, exactly?"

Phone rising to frame the two of them, Pence let out a harried sigh.

" _Followers_ , man. And requests for product endorsements. Don't be dense."

Right.

Stifling a yawn, Roxas reached for his water and took a long swig, while Pence looked over and arched a brow expectantly.

"Come on. Give me something to work with. The last ones are barely worth sharing."

Roxas popped the crouton into his mouth, chewed a few times, then made a face.

"I'd rather kiss Hayner." He glanced at Olette who offered a look of mock-affront. "No offense."

Across from them, another loud laugh from Demyx, and Roxas ground his teeth at the sound. He looked up right as Demyx was in the process of wrapping an arm around Axel's shoulders. The affectionate gesture was short-lived, and no one seemed particularly bothered by it.

Except… were they dating or something? An image of their interaction during the last practice came to him, specifically how Demyx had lightly slapped Axel before he'd taken the ice. Quite suddenly, Roxas found his face heating, eyes glued to the pair, trying to parse their every action for a clue that'd explain the evidence he'd been mentally compiling. That was probably why he didn't feel Hayner's arm mime the same motion until it was draped across the back of his own neck, light but definite.

"That can be arranged."

Roxas turned to his friend and caught the tail end of a toothy grin.

Uh… what had they been talking about again?

Hayner was still looking at him as Olette's laughter filtered in from behind. Roxas blinked, tried to summon the last few lines of their conversation without success as Hayner leaned closer and Pence angled his iPhone camera with an eager expression that made Roxas feel antsy.

"No homo, though." Hayner lowered his voice, tone turning conspiratorial. "This is all totally platonic. Any tongue is just a bonus."

As Roxas' eyes widened, Olette shifted beside him, tugging him back toward her a little. By the time Pence hit the shutter button, it was aimed at two national level ice dancers kissing either side of Roxas' face, his pale skin flushed, eyes closed as a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Those sneaky _shits_.

They lingered on either side of him as Pence sat back and studied his handiwork.

"Now this I can work with." He shot the trio a wry grin. "Now smile like you're getting paid for it. 'Cause, y'know, you kinda are."

They did. This time, the expression Roxas offered was more genuine.

As a server came to refill their drinks, Pence stood.

"Gonna go snap some candids and see when Aqua wants me to call for the bus."

Briefly, Roxas looked toward the third table, where Aqua was seated with a pair of parent chaperones tasked with keeping track of the younger skaters. Her own salad plate had been left mostly untouched, albeit probably for different reasons than his. Scattered across her side of the table were myriad papers torn out of a spiral-bound notebook. It didn't take much imagination for Roxas to picture the rink-shaped diagrams and program patterns that would be scrawled on them. She studied one, then another, making the occasional note in no discernible order. Most of them were probably associated with the show's opening and closing group numbers, Roxas figured, but one almost certainly had his and Naminé's names on it. Their late night practice had been a sound system shitshow; no matter how much Demyx had tweaked various settings, the lyrics in their duet piece just couldn't be heard over the stereo's terrible bass.

If Roxas knew Aqua at all, she was probably trying to summon the choreo from their last season program out of the the recesses of her memory to see how she could work in Ven for his step-out solo at the end of their number. While both exhibitions were slower cuts of music, this year's was a full instrumental composition. Last year's had been a country ballad. Not exactly pieces that lent themselves to simple choreographic switches.

No doubt, tomorrow was going to suck trying to remember a program he and Nami hadn't performed in over a year, along with the various other emergencies that tended to crop up during dress rehearsals while the show directors worked out routine production kinks. For Roxas, it was business as usual, just a part of being a performer, something he was usually paid to do.

Just, this time he wasn't being compensated, and he'd never worked at a venue that was inadequate in so many ways.

Now would've been a great time to think up more creative mental obscenities about Terra and his conviction for devising character-building learning experiences. At this time of night, Roxas was too bone-tired to make the effort.

"Hey, guys. Group photo at the big table."

Although Pence included everyone in his directive, it was Roxas, Hayner, and Olette who he waved over and ordered into chairs front and center at the table where Kairi was already sitting. Sora and Naminé relocated to both sides of them, followed a beat later by a dark-haired girl who'd skated the duet with Axel on practice ice earlier. By now, this was more or less a routine default among Radiant Edge club members; group photos were meant to seem somewhat spontaneous to the viewing public, but Nationals-bound seniors were always the featured skaters.

Behind him was Axel, seated just far enough to one side that red occasionally flashed at the edges of Roxas' eyes. This was the closest they'd been since he'd asked Demyx to stop Axel's music and offered up advice about skating under spotlights. Far from being a friendly gesture, to Roxas it'd been purely a matter of professional courtesy. Even unpaid, shows were an integral aspect of his career as a competitive figure skater, something that he usually enjoyed, yes, but also a work responsibility. Not speaking up would've meant sabotaging part of the larger production; if one skater performed poorly, it reflected on the overall show's quality. From where he'd been standing, Axel's coach had simply seemed primed to yell at him, which wasn't particularly conducive to resolving the issue. That was why he'd stepped in. Nothing more.

 _And if that were truly the only reason_ , a teasing voice goaded, _you probably wouldn't have been so keen to seen him skate a second time in those tight pants he was wearing_.

Feh.

As Pence snapped a few photos first with his phone and then an actual camera, Roxas tried to look natural, to pretend he couldn't feel eyes studying him from the booth bench behind him.

"Okay, just a few more." Pence had probably intended to sound encouraging, but it felt closer to patronizing in Roxas' current, fatigue-induced pique. "Those headed to Nationals only this time."

Of their group, that left Roxas in front with Hayner, Kairi, and Olette, then Sora and Naminé on either side of them with another pair of girls in the back, one novice and a junior who'd placed just behind Naminé at Sectionals.

And Axel. For a moment, he seemed to hesitate as Demyx abandoned his seat, looking between Pence and the skaters still arranged around the table, unsure of his place among them.

"Yeah, stay." Pence shot him a thumbs up before focusing on his camera again. "Sportsmanship between competitors, or whatever. People eat that crap up."

He paused, then glanced over his lens.

"Actually." His gaze shifted to Roxas. "Move back and sit closer to him. That'll be the money shot."

As Hayner snorted air and Sora's bright expression turned perplexed at a comment that seemed to have flown straight over his head, Roxas sucked in a sharp breath and tried to maintain the appearance of outward calm. Sitting next to Axel was probably next to the last thing he wanted to do at the moment, just slightly behind actually eating his vinaigrette-slick salad.

 _This is just part of the business_ , he mentally scolded. _Get over yourself._

Without a word, he rose and turned, paying little mind to Pence's next instructions as he turned his photographer's attention to Sora and Naminé and had them perch on either edge of the chair he'd just vacated. He moved to the booth side of the table, took the seat that Demyx had recently occupied, and tried to act natural. Now _this_ was the closest he'd been to Axel since Sectionals. He could feel heat in his chest, tension in his throat, a prickle of sensation in his thighs at the memory of what that encounter had led to.

A hand on his chin, face tilted up, mouth captured in a firm, confident kiss. A meeting of tongues, teeth dragged against a willing bottom lip. Fervent. Spontaneous. So in the moment.

At least, that's how it'd felt to him.

So close. He was close enough that their shoulders were brushing, the sides of their legs momentarily touching as he got settled. Roxas looked over, up just enough to see his rival's familiar smile. Turning to face the camera, he reminded himself that this, too, was just meant to be an extension of his carefully constructed public persona.

A couple shots went off, clicks a patter of quiet camera gunshots, then a few more with the flash to counteract the diner's dim lighting.

"One more should do it."

Pence lined up the shot, only to be held off by Olette's rising hand. She twisted toward the booth and fixed Roxas with a charming little smile.

"Make it a good one. This might be your last photo ever as a teenager."

Out of the corner of his eye, a flicker of green, but Axel said nothing. It was Sora who turned to him, eyes wide.

"Is tomorrow your birthday?"

With a stiff nod, Roxas affirmed. He noted the satisfied expression across Olette's delicate features and considered the myriad ways he could pay her back for revealing that detail in public. Oblivious to his irritation, Sora's smile expanded.

" _No way_. Mine's Sunday! That is…just so…"

 _Cool._

 _Oy vey already, we_ **_know_** _._

"Hey, boys." Pence flailed an arm to catch their attention, then flicked a thumb and index finger at his camera. "My eyes are up here."

Sora turned toward Pence and blinked, not quite following, and Kairi grinned beside him. The smile Roxas offered was relaxed, casual. As he felt another brush of Axel's shoulder against his that seemed more purposeful than inadvertent, he was finally willing to admit that his internal state was far less assured than was implied by the smile projected outward.

o - o

By the time they got to their hotel room, it was well past midnight, with a 5am wake-up call looming. As expected, the lodging was of questionable quality. Although it boasted a 3-star rating, Roxas had serious doubts that equated to anything even approaching the same caliber in SoCal.

He supposed it wasn't hard to be the best accommodations in town when the only other options were hotel chains with numbers in their names qualified by words like 'Best' and 'Super'.

Assigned three to a room with only two double beds and one sleeper sofa, Pence took the bullet and volunteered for the couch. Its fabric was old, frayed, the pull-out hinges noisy and protesting as Hayner and Roxas helped Pence set up his sleeping arrangement for the next two nights.

They took turns in the bathroom, Pence letting his friends take turns first so they could turn in sooner as he edited the pictures he'd taken and started scheduling them to post on Radiant Edge's various social media accounts. By the time it was his turn, Hayner was already in bed and Roxas was one shirt halfway shrugged over his head from following.

Shirt in hand, Roxas tossed it onto the top of his suitcase, virtually the only thing he trusted to be sanitary in their current living space. Dimming the light just enough to still give Pence visibility when he got out of the bathroom, Roxas turned, suddenly noticing how closely Hayner was studying him.

Roxas inclined his chin, ran a hand down his chest where Hayner's eyes were fixed, trying to see what had caught his attention.

"What?"

Hayner's gaze flickered up.

"I was just wondering if you were hungry."

Thrown by what seemed like a total non-sequitur, Roxas pursed his lips, arms unconsciously criss-crossing his chest.

"…not really."

"Because there's a vending machine down the hall. I have some change if you need it."

Brows furrowing a moment before he adopted a look of mild disgust, Roxas shook his head.

"I'm good."

"Okay, but." Pushing himself up onto an elbow, Hayner's expression remained subtly troubled. "It's, just. You hardly ate anything at dinner."

Now he knew what this was about. Shoulders rising as he inhaled, Roxas raked both hands through his hair as he made his way over to the bed. He drew back the covers and suppressed the urge to comment about ugly comforter patterns and unbearably low bed sheet thread counts.

"You saw how gross my salad was. Would _you_ have wanted to eat it?"

"No, but salads are stupid excuses for food. You should've ordered a burger."

In one quick movement, Hayner reclined back onto his pillow and Roxas resigned himself to the reality of a lumpy hotel mattress. He slipped under the sheets, eyes directed up at the popcorn ceiling.

For thirty seconds, just silence, punctuated by the sound of Pence brushing his teeth in the bathroom. Then, the shifting of bedsprings and a sensation of once more being watched.

"You'd tell me, right? If it was starting up again?"

Not moving his head, Roxas glanced over at his friend. For a moment, he was tempted to play dumb, to ask what the hell Hayner was even talking about.

Not only was he positive Hayner would see through it, Roxas respected his friend enough not to bullshit, especially when they were this exhausted. His answer was an exhalation, a deep sigh that traveled down his spine, body finally settling.

"Yeah. I would."

"And if you ever need someone to talk to…"

The jangle of a loose door handle cut Hayner off and they both lapsed into silence as Pence lumbered across the room toward the sofa. On his way past Roxas' suitcase, he shut off the light, a definitive click that plunged the room into instant, inky darkness.

"…I'm here."

A whispered declaration. Roxas shifted as he considered it and listened to Pence get into bed. As his eyes adjusted, he could just make out the curve of Hayner's left shoulder one bed over, a few spiked tufts of his hair, and the glint of dark pupils each time he blinked.

Beneath his own sheets, Roxas pressed a hand to his sternum, fingers trailing lower as he traced the outline of one side of his ribcage. Beneath it, fingertips ghosted over a flat stomach, toned but lithely concave. Another breath in and Roxas closed his eyes, ultimately responding in a voice that was just as quiet.

"I know."

Although Hayner didn't say anything and Roxas was no longer looking, he hoped he'd been heard. And, more than anything, he wanted to believe Hayner knew just how much he was grateful for the offer of support.

o - o

During tours, time was a relative concept that didn't mean much with so many things to cram into such a meager amount of it. Four hours of sleep was never ideal under any circumstances. Four hours on an uncomfortable hotel bed, with an empty stomach that seemed hellbent on giving Pence's foghorn snoring a run for its money was, on the other hand, a reasonable justification to drive people a little closer to insanity, in Roxas' view.

His one minor source of comfort was that everyone else looked just as exhausted as he was feeling.

Coffee in hand, Roxas chucked his half-eaten cup of yogurt into the trash bin at the front of the bus as he exited. A combination of black coffee and the fermented dairy of a questionable yogurt culture churned his stomach, and Roxas was reminded how much he disliked eating anything before exercising first thing in the morning. It made him feel heavy, like there was a rock in his stomach, less than ideal for someone trying to launch themselves up into the air to execute three, full-body rotations in under a second.

But Hayner had been watching him when they'd placed their to-go orders. In turn, Roxas had felt obligated to give the appearance that he was marginally interested in the cafe's shitty food offerings.

If he ended up with food poisoning, he'd know who to blame.

They collected their skate bags from under the bus, then trudged across the parking lot toward the facility where they'd be spending a generous minimum estimate of the next twelve hours. It had rained overnight. A parking lot consisting of nothing more than packed dirt and a few orange construction cones to siphon off the requisite handicapped spots close to the entrance, their feet were caked in a thin layer of mud by the time they'd completed their journey from bus to skating facility.

The wheels of their skate bags had faired no better.

Without a word, each skater took their turn first dragging their feet and then rolling their bags over a rubber industrial mat at the building entrance, pausing in the process to let Aqua through. This early in the morning, there were no other cars in the lot. Roxas watched as Aqua fished a key out of her purse, then proceeded to unlock the double doors into the rink lobby.

There was no point in having a security system or even cameras, he supposed, when there was literally nothing worth stealing within a four block radius.

"Novice and junior skaters whose names aren't Sora have the ice first," Aqua called as she entered the building. She glanced back. "Plus Roxas and Naminé. It's going to be a long day for you two until we get your duet music sorted out."

Yeah, he'd already figured that'd be the case.

The lobby was empty as they entered, with no sign of that snarky, potentially gay, Axel-dating rink attendant. No Axel either, for that matter. Roxas tried not to be irritated at the knowledge that the guy probably wasn't slotted to show up until later when the first show run-through was scheduled, and would probably arrive more or less rested.

A blast of frigid rink air hit him face first as the door that separated the lobby from the ice was wrenched open by one of the novice girls. Reluctantly, Roxas made his way over to it, bounded on either side by Hayner and Olette, Pence trailing behind, eyes glued to the screen of his phone, same as they'd been all morning. This time, they split the changing rooms by levels rather than gender, Olette and Kairi following Hayner's lead and bypassing the room already claimed by the novices and juniors. At a gesture from Kairi, Sora joined them. Practically skipping as he increased his pace to catch up, he was the only member of their entire group who didn't look tired.

Repeating his routine from a day ago, Roxas chose a bench on the wall opposite from where Sora was setting up, careful to lay down his blade drying towel before taking a seat himself. Olette followed suit, then sat down next to him, offering a smile when he glanced over.

"Hey, so." Roxas leaned down as he spoke, digging out a pair of gel-lined ankle sleeves that helped counteract lace bite. "You wouldn't happen to have an extra pair of leg warmers I could borrow?"

Because he'd been an idiot and only packed his preferred make of practice pants, not anticipating sub-Arctic rink temperatures just a few miles from asscrack-of-California, hotter than hell Fresno. The pants were tight but stretchy, clinging to his legs with form-fitting uniformity. In Roxas' mind, it was the perfect attire for jumping, particularly if he was being filmed and needed a clear view of the lines his body was making. The material, however, was light, insubstantial against the cold of a rink with temperatures as improperly regulated as this one. If he were planning a more intense practice that would've warmed up his muscles, he could have lived with it. It was more likely that there'd be a lot of standing around doing nothing, or minimal movement to piece together their old program's layout under Aqua's guidance. Aside from the full show run-throughs, there wasn't a high chance that they'd be doing much actual skating today, and Roxas didn't welcome the idea of succumbing to minor frostbite, all to earn some backwater rink a few extra bucks, even if it the cause was charitable.

Olette shook her head.

"Sorry, I just have the ones I'm wearing."

The look she shot Roxas was tinged with sympathy.

"I've got an extra set!"

Sora's cheerful voice rang out from across the room, and Roxas looked up just in time to see a pair of knotted leg warmers make a lopsided arc across the room toward him.

"Happy birthday!"

He caught them, then split the incredulous look that followed between the wooly fabric and his training mate.

"You're kidding, right?"

They were bubblegum pink, with little white hearts dotted throughout. Generously.

Sora just smiled and offered a shrug.

"They don't really make leg warmers for guys, so I just get whatever's available."

With a dubious look, Roxas glanced back at Olette. Beneath her long wrap skirt, she wore leg warmers of her own. They were a nice, refined black.

"As long as they help keep you warm though, right?"

Oblivious to Roxas' lack of enthusiasm, Sora pulled out a second pair from his bag. This set was a tricolor zigzag of pink, purple, and yellow, all pastel. In retrospect, Roxas quickly decided he preferred coverings that were at least somewhat monochromatic. Without another word, he slipped them onto his legs, started lacing up, and said a silent prayer that Axel really didn't plan on showing up until mid-morning.

For the first time since they'd entered the facility, Roxas noticed that Pence had finally dragged his eyes away from his phone. He'd been watching the exchange in silence, at least up until now.

"I hope you know I'm getting some pictures of you two in that get-up. Your fans will get a total kick out of it."

Trying not to sigh, Roxas took one final sip of his coffee, then stood. On his way to the door, he stopped to toss the cup into a garbage can, then turned back toward Pence and shot him a beleaguered expression.

"You know, at this point, I'd expect nothing less."

o - o

After three hours on the ice and countless, mindless run-throughs of a country ballad duet he'd been convinced had been laid to rest last season, Aqua finally dismissed him with a warning that the reprieve was only temporary. Along with Naminé, Roxas grabbed his supplies from the boards and headed off the ice.

At this point, cotton candy pink calves were the least of his concerns. Although Axel had sashayed in an hour earlier, Roxas had offloaded every single one of his remaining fucks about how Sora's leg warmers looked on him two sessions earlier, along with the last vestiges of feeling in both of his feet. He was tired, hungry, legs numb. None of this was atypical during dress rehearsal crunch-time; it was just an awful amalgam of the location, crappy weather, and Axel's presence that was throwing him.

Probably.

Not bothering to plod back to the changing area or put on blade guards, Roxas took a seat on the bottom row of bleacher seats and began unlacing. The sound of the zamboni sputtering to life filtered to him from the other side of the rink, a sickly noise that was probably yet another reason the rink needed money. Roxas shook his head, unmindful of the wisps of hair that fell just above his eyelids as he tried to find a zen place—and enough energy to last another ballpark nine hours over the course of more on- and off-ice practices and two full dress rehearsals.

Skates off, Roxas leaned back and flexed his feet. Feeling returned in a patchwork of prickly sensations, the discomfort all but inevitable after ignoring his body's earlier protestations during practice. Their program felt polished now, the final minute with Ven's step-out the only part left to work on. At this stage, Roxas felt fairly confident that if the show was going to be a failure, it wouldn't be his doing. Small consolation, but it was something.

Avoiding the puddle of slushy water that had dripped from his blades to the rubbery floor, Roxas stood and hobbled his way back to the changing room. Currently unoccupied, he took advantage of a moment of calm as he undressed and changed into his solo show program outfit. A pair of fitted black pants and a loose crimson shirt with a cord that tied at his collar, it was far more understated than any of his competition costumes, as was the music that accompanied it.

He'd just finished stowing his practice clothes in his skate bag when the others started filing in.

Not in the mood to socialize, Roxas fished out his wallet and headed back toward the door.

"Aqua's not making you do the next session?"

Roxas stopped and turned to Hayner before shaking his head.

"Lucky bastard."

"Tell that to my feet." Roxas scoffed, then swept his hand downward in a flourish. "Pretty sure I've suffered permanent nerve damage from her torture session this morning."

With a parting shrug, he turned halfway back to the door.

"Anyway, I'm going to see if concessions has anything even resembling healthy." He noted Hayner's small nod of approval but opted not to acknowledge it. "I'll see you guys on the next session."

Concessions did not, in fact, have any healthy options. Roxas ended up settling for a bottle of water and a plain hot dog.

Heading to the condiment area, he grabbed some napkins and plastic utensils, then deposited the hot dog bun into the nearest garbage can. Carbs were fine, he told himself, but in moderation and not the kind that were so over-processed they hardly qualified as edible. As Roxas found a seat at a nearby table, he acknowledged that the same logic probably applied to the hot dog. The likelihood of it being all-beef was probably equal to the probability of the rink getting warmer as the day wore on.

If his _savta_ could see him now, she'd probably be rolling in her grave. How far the mighty had fallen—or just a certain Strife from Orange County who was failing miserably at keeping kosher thanks to the Central Valley's low-key social barbarism.

A flash of movement caught his attention, and Roxas shifted his gaze toward the doors that led out into the parking lot. Catching sight of first Terra, then Ven, he sat up straighter, automatically putting fork and knife to work in dividing his hot dog into smaller pieces.

They were standing near the door talking to the rink owners. Roxas considered each person in turn, only noticing the dark-haired girl he vaguely remembered being introduced to the night before when her father moved forward, reaching for something Ven was offering that looked distinctly check-shaped.

Ah, right. Commence the monetary generosity. His parents hadn't bothered to schlep up here but apparently their pocketbook had decided to make an appearance. Roxas didn't have enough energy left to be surprised—or to bother turning toward the double doors that led to the rink, even though he heard them opening.

There was no real need to turn his head when red hair was assaulting the furthest reaches of his peripheral vision.

A throat cleared. Dutifully, Roxas turned and looked up at his Sectionals rival.

"So, that blue-haired woman—"

"Aqua," Roxas supplied.

"Yeah, her." Axel nodded. "She told me to tell you the next session starts in ten."

"Mm."

Roxas turned his gaze back to the door, watched as Ven shook the hands of both rink owners before they moved to Terra to repeat the gesture. The action was Roxas' version of an effective dismissal.

One that Axel either didn't pick up on or else willfully ignored.

"That your brother? Ventus?"

Glancing down at his half-eaten hot dog, Roxas fiddled with a section of the frank with the outermost prong of his fork.

"That would be my brother."

"Cool." Out of the corner of one eye, Roxas saw movement, an arm rising toward an inked face, then slender fingers sliding through hair that was much more nicely styled than it'd been a mere year ago. "I guess I'll see you out there."

Yeah.

He heard Axel turn and take a few steps, only to pause. Roxas still didn't look up.

"Hey." The voice was hushed, with a tone Roxas couldn't quite put his finger on. "You clean up real nice."

That got him. Trying to quell the heat creeping up from his chest to his neck, Roxas finally glanced over at Axel.

"…thanks."

His response was just as soft, final letters rising just enough for it to sound like a question. Too tired to come up with something snarky, for once Roxas had settled on civility.

For his part, Axel just smiled, brows rising as his expression turned wry.

"When you're not half drowning in Swarovski, anyway." Hand up to his temple, he inclined his head like he was tipping an imaginary hat. "See you in a few, Roxy."


	6. Pride

**A/N** : We have a Tumblr now (the obsession runs deep). It's at kh-figureskatinghell. Fan art, written outtakes, and characters answering questions eventually: Feel free to check it out. :)

* * *

006: PRIDE

* * *

 **December 2015**

Hayner had been right about one thing: the 24 hour diner's hamburger offerings were better than its salads.

Marginally.

Then again, it was also quite possible that both options sucked in equal parts, and the more fatigued Roxas felt, the less selective his taste palate had become.

Around him, the conversations of others filtered through, still excited but a little more subdued than the night before. At this stage, everyone was more or less the same level of exhausted. With a glance toward Sora, still bright-eyed and smiling and taking the lead at the table closest to him, Roxas was willing to admit that some people weathered the crazy schedule that came as a default with skating shows better than others.

Roxas was seated at a smaller table this time, just large enough to fit two siblings and one coach who still hadn't quite made it off his shit list for offering him up for this thing in the first place. Without Hayner and Olette beside him, or Pence to cut in with a snarky remark or a pose request for another series of publicity shots, Roxas was stuck mostly listening to Ven talk to Terra, with Naminé occasionally supplementing.

The conversation had mostly revolved around the day's rehearsals, and the extra practices Aqua had imposed to get their duet back up to an acceptable level. From time to time, Naminé veered off-topic to chatter about the rink owners, their daughter more specifically. It seemed she and Xion were about the same age, if not anywhere near the same level, yet that hadn't deterred Naminé from referencing Xion at every available opportunity. If Roxas hadn't been so all-out exhausted, he might've found it endearing, maybe thought it was nice to see a sign of his sister being outspoken about something. Naminé was well-liked among their teammates at Radiant Edge, but also very focused on her training. That level of intensity only served to amplify a demeanor that was already quite reserved. If she did well at junior-level Nationals this year, Terra would no doubt recommend hiring a PR coach to ensure Naminé knew how to handle herself during post-competition interviews.

That was how it'd worked for Roxas, anyway. First it'd been Ven's surprise win at Nationals in his first season as a senior, and an even more unexpected medal at Worlds. Then came the agent, the PR rep, and near-instant celebrity status even outside the skating community. Roxas had been a novice-level skater the year that everything had changed for them. He'd been fifth at Nationals that year, a respectable placement for a skater still working to learn all of his triples. But suddenly, it hadn't been enough. There'd been a trickle-down effect with the attention Ven was receiving, with Roxas the natural next in line media target. Soon enough, it was his every move in the sport being scrutinized, then compared to Ven despite the differences in levels and natural athletic abilities.

So, extra lessons. A second choreographer so his short and long programs had a different feel to them. With Eraqus set to retire, Terra had taken Roxas on full-time, where before he'd only received the occasional lesson from Radiant Edge's most in-demand coaches.

Plus a personal off-ice trainer. The rink had even hired a nutritionist who weighed him in weekly, then handed over a meal list, with the expectation that it be meticulously complied with. Each calorie accounted for, every bite studied. A strict diet, without exception.

While Ven had successfully defended his national title the following year, Roxas had remained at novice and won silver. Where an unexpected fifth place standing had been cause to celebrate just one year earlier, second place had felt like failure in light of his brother's accomplishments, not to mention his parents' growing expectations for both of them.

As the conversation shifted from rehearsals to plans for the upcoming holiday, Roxas hardly noticed the change in topics. He continued to pick apart his hamburger, dividing it into quadrants with his knife and fork, then sub-dividing it further, an occasional bite interspersed.

He'd needed to be faster during spins and transitions, to execute stronger jumps. Also lighter to aid in quicker rotation. Where skating had once been a fun game to see how closely he could mimic his brother's athletic feats, the focus soon shifted to an obsession with winning. It'd become more about simply keeping up while Ven won medal after medal instead of his own personal fulfillment, with special focus on not marring his brother's winning streak. That much had been made clear, however implicit.

His oldest brother Cloud had gotten out before this had started, taking a scholarship to play college-level hockey, then retiring to focus on growing a business he and a couple friends had started right after graduating.

Talk about lucky.

"Hey."

A light nudge, and Roxas looked up. Ven's brows were raised, eyes fixed on him as though he was expecting something.

Roxas blinked, refocusing first on his unfinished meal, then up at his brother and the rest of the table.

"Sorry, what?"

Beside him, Ven was reaching for a glass of ice tea.

"I just suggested we take a drive to La Jolla once we get back so I can treat you to an actual birthday dinner. It'd be nice to catch up."

… _I'd like to take you out sometime._

"Uh." Roxas floundered, aiming his fork at one of the sliced-up hamburger squares as he tried to keep his mind off Axel. The fork connected against the plate with undue force. The subsequent scraping sound set him further on edge. "Yeah, that'd be great."

"Cool." Ven smiled as he deposited his glass back on the table. "I'll see when Cloud is free. It'd be nice to get the whole family in one place since this show kind of interfered with our usual Hanukkah get-together."

Right. Not that Hanukkah was that big of a holiday anyway, but usually his family did at least a little something for it. Generally, it fell closer to Christmas too, which made his and Naminé's training schedules easier to work around since they always got a few days off leading up to the new year.

Roxas nodded, then returned his attention to his dinner as Terra asked a question about his and Naminé's duet that Ven would be doing a step-out for, grateful when Naminé was quick to answer.

Beside him, his skate bag, so close Roxas could reach down and touch it if he'd wanted. Within it, a hoodie, two sizes too big for him, even if he'd been willing to overlook the hokey design that looked like it'd been drawn by a remedial art student.

And inside that ...well.

 _I'd rather give you a kiss…_

People were beginning to push back from their seats and collect their belongings at the tables around him. Roxas glanced over, noted one tall senior-level skater in particular, and wondered why everything in his life always had to be so damn complicated.

 _Happy birthday, Roxy._

Their eyes met briefly before Roxas looked away, just not before Ven happened to catch the silent exchange, apparently.

 _Call me…_

"So that's your main guy, huh?"

"What?" Face heating, Roxas turned back to his brother. " _No_. He's not."

"Axel Cendres?" Ven's features shifted to puzzled as Naminé rose and stepped up behind them. "I could've sworn he placed behind you at Sectionals."

Oh.

Roxas froze.

Yeah, so, he totally hadn't just misinterpreted that question.

As skaters began to file out of the diner, behind him a quiet chuckle issued from his sister. It was followed by an affectionate pat on one shoulder.

"No, you're not wrong." Roxas could almost hear the smile in Naminé's tone as she spoke over him. "He's Roxas' guy, alright."

Roxas swallowed hard, mouth open but unable to find any words.

Good gawd.

Naminé… just…

How _dare._

Bag in hand, Naminé skipped off toward a group of her friends. Roxas was left to exchange looks with his brother, thin-lipped, cheeks still flushed, and plotting subconscious revenge on his sister. Between Terra, her, and Olette, his mental list seemed to be growing.

And so much for those deceptively angelic features. Naminé could be downright devilish when she wanted to be.

o - o

His breaths were shallow, panting audible as fingers released his chin from a firm grip, then ghosted around to the back of his neck. There they remained, tangling in hair, before moving lower to unclasp the buttons at a beaded collar that held Roxas' long program costume in place.

It released, and Roxas shivered at the new, exposed feeling. Lips moved away from his face, traveling down the tendon of his throat, kissing, sometimes stopping to devote more attention to areas that seemed particularly sensitive. Between them both, Roxas slid his hands, first over Axel's shirt as he savored the feel of tight chest muscles and abdominals, then tugged the fabric upward, one hand slipping under to retrace its path, this time against nothing but warm flesh.

So hot. It was so hot between them, and Roxas wanted more, wanted Axel's mouth to dip lower, to help him slip out of the lycra confines of a costume that felt atypically restrictive. He heard a sound of quiet longing, only registering that it'd come from his own mouth when he felt the rising curve of Axel's smile against the collarbone he was now exploring.

 _"I'd rather give you a kiss…"_

Hands pulled at his costume, slid it off of each arm and down his chest to the dips of his ribs where it remained, lightly bunched as fingers traveled back upward.

 _"But this…"_

One rib, then another, until Axel reached a nipple. He rolled it between his thumb and a finger. Although Roxas' eyes were closed, he saw sparks, felt prickles of heat at his thighs. He leaned against Axel and the sound returned at the back of his throat, yearning.

So slow. They were moving so slowly. After almost a month of over-analyzing their last locker room encounter, all Roxas felt now was the need to hurry.

 _"…will have to do for now."_

A hand on the inside of his knee, light and teasing. It traveled a deliberate path up toward Roxas' lap, and the heat between them intensified. So too, the rising anticipation felt nearly unbearable for Roxas.

 _Touch_ _me_.

This was what Roxas wanted, but the words stayed unspoken, restricted by tense throat muscles and the hesitation that came with a situation where he lacked any real prior experience.

A ringing in his ears, muted and distant, almost entirely unnoticed in the heat of the moment. Axel's hand paused as it reached the fabric at his inner thigh, while Roxas suppressed a groan and the urge to shift his lower body forward.

" _Happy birthday, Roxy_."

A light chuckle that, though deeper, reminded him of Naminé's teasing comment. With it came mild irritation at the awkward spot he'd been left in with Ven immediately after.

Then, more persistent ringing, as Axel's hand resumed its journey toward his lap.

" _Call me…_ "

 _Up a little more_ , Roxas silently encouraged. _God, just a little closer and_ —

A hand latched onto his shoulder and shook. The voice that followed didn't sound even a little like Axel.

"Man, do you ever sleep like the dead."

Shoulder jerking, Roxas opened his eyes and got a full view of Hayner in all his pre-groomed early morning glory.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you." Hayner took a step back. "The alarm just didn't seem to be registering and we've gotta be out at the bus soon. Pence is already down waiting."

Still disoriented, Roxas said nothing, just shifted onto his side. Fingers that had already curled over the edges of his bed sheets stopped abruptly before he could throw them aside at the realization that he had a …problem. Beneath the sheets he could hide it, but the moment he got out of bed Hayner was going to find himself treated to an HD image of an Axel-inspired hard-on.

Lord in Heaven.

Hayner was a few feet away from him, just not far enough to miss something so obvious. With an impatient huff, Roxas waved him off.

"Go then. I'll get changed and be down in a minute."

Much to his annoyance, Hayner merely shook his head.

"No can do. Aqua would kill me dead if I came down solo and you ended up passing out and holding us all up."

Roxas shot Hayner an irked look.

"I'm awake. _You_ just woke me up."

Hayner just shrugged, then plopped down at the foot of the bed across from him, eyes still fixed on Roxas.

God damnit. Even when Axel wasn't around, it seemed he was skilled at getting a rise out of his latest, unfortunate victim. Literally. It fucking figured.

With the sardonic thought that this wasn't going to be in the _least_ bit awkward, Roxas gave in, then threw back the covers and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, telling himself there was a chance that Hayner wouldn't notice in the room's subpar lighting.

Yeah. Sure.

"Whoa-oh."

The word came out choked as Hayner unsuccessfully tried to compose himself.

In as dignified a manner as possible, Roxas strutted past Hayner, his gait more than a little awkward, wearing only socks and a pair of boxer briefs that had never before seemed this oppressive.

Behind him, Hayner cleared his throat.

"I thought I was pretty clear about the 'no homo' part of that kiss on Friday."

The comment was aimed at his back. For a moment, Roxas considered flipping him off.

That would require turning, would risk giving Hayner another full frontal. Personally, Roxas wasn't in the mood to listen to his friend guffaw at his expense this early on a Sunday.

Not ever, honestly.

"Oh, shut up," he mumbled, making a grab for his luggage before disappearing into the bathroom.

If this was the mood that'd been set for the rest of his day, it was going to be a torturous one, Roxas thought grimly. Thanks a lot, Axel.

o - o

By their very nature, dress rehearsals were panicked affairs. Run just like the actual show, there was no stopping to address technical problems or individual skater issues. A list of skating order was taped up to the plexiglass immediately behind a makeshift curtain that took up a quarter of the rink surface. Skaters were expected to memorize the four or five numbers before theirs so they could listen to cues from the announcer. Three numbers before, they needed to be making their way from dressing room to curtain via the blacked out area along the side of the rink opposite the spectator seating. Two and they could remove their blade guards, then warm up around the small sheet of ice behind the curtain. One and all gloves and warm-up coats came off in preparation to skate themselves, which was where Roxas was at now.

With longer running tours, Roxas usually learned the particulars of the performance before his almost as well as he knew his own program. He'd know when he had half a minute left before showtime, could count down the seconds it took for the skater to take a bow. In this instance, Roxas had less time to learn these things, but the skater before him happened to be Sora. His number was annoyingly peppy, so it suited him. Having watched Sora practice it for the last six months straight, Roxas also knew the ins and outs of it fairly well. He supposed he should be grateful that Aqua had chosen to order them in this manner. It certainly made things easier on his end.

Yeah, but whatever. Because it also meant that Sora was behind the curtain at the same time as him, goofing around and being his typically distracting self on the lead-up to his number. While Roxas limited himself to a few easy doubles executed at half-speed just to get his feet under him, Sora whizzed around the cramped space ticking off triple after triple, much to the delight of a group of Roulade girls whose number came right after Roxas'.

Not to mention the seemingly endless string of birthday wishes he'd had to contend with. It wasn't enough that his birthday was over and done with as of a day ago. No. Since Sora turned eighteen on the day of the show and by now everyone well knew this, Roxas had been fielding just as many belated birthday wishes as Sora was receiving pecks on the cheek from girls delighted that he was so willing to humor their cutesie advances.

 _Just, gag me._

The only saving grace was that Axel's numbers were nowhere near his on the show roster. This was still only a partial reprieve since it meant repeat encounters to and from the dressing rooms that had been divided by gender for the duration of the show. There was no getting around having to change in the same space together.

The first costume change had been anxiety-inducing, Roxas' face flushing the moment he'd had to so much as lift his shirt above his shoulders in front of one tattooed viewer in particular. For the most part, however, Axel had been polite when surrounded by the handful of Radiant Edge skaters assigned to the men's dressing room. The pace of the show was also frenzied enough not to leave time for unnecessary conversation, although Hayner did manage a subtle comment that referenced the incident that morning. It had left Roxas low-key sputtering and Axel with an intrigued expression as Roxas rushed out of the changing area.

Sora's music stopped on a high note and Roxas moved toward the curtain where Aqua was already standing, a two-way radio in hand so she could communicate with Demyx and the lighting technicians. She offered Roxas a brief smile, then pulled back the curtain enough to give them both a glimpse of Sora's final bow to a few hoots and whistles in a sparse crowd. The lights dimmed and Roxas skated out onto the main ice surface.

They passed each other in the dark, Sora breathing hard but smiling, Roxas merely nodding in acknowledgment as he found his position and let Demyx's booming voice introduce him over the loudspeaker.

"He's the 2013 Junior World bronze medalist and this year's Senior Pacific Coast Sectionals champion. Please give a warm welcome to Roxas Strife."

The lights flickered on, a mix of reds and yellows. As the opening strains of his music filtered through the sound system, Roxas inhaled and gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the blinding spotlights positioned above him. A deep back pivot, head down, expression humble, and Roxas started his program.

It was a slow, folksy opener that allowed him time to settle into the mood of the piece. Although Aqua had choreographed the steps, Roxas had naturally adopted his own expressions. It was the one thing about skating that had come more naturally to him than Ven or Naminé—the simple knowledge of when to look up and involve the audience, how to smile in a way that matched the growing confidence of the song lyrics.

More than anything, he loved these moments at the beginning of show programs. There were jumps and more technical elements to come, but they were simplified to highlight the artistic side of his performance.

If only competitions could inspire this same sort of joy in him.

From the corner of the bleachers, he spotted a familiar, inked face. For the first time in their handful of encounters, Roxas didn't feel the need to act guarded. Eyes locking on Axel each time the program called for him to look up, Roxas continued his program, at ease with his own fluid movements.

A simple triple sal, then a combination spin that included a layback into a high catchfoot variation with a natural flexibility uncommon among male skaters, and Roxas came out of it with a smile that could have given Sora some genuine competition. Running threes into a triple loop and complimenting, deep-edged footwork into a final, blurred upright spin, and he was finished, eyes still fixed on Axel who seemed to be watching him closely, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth as he joined the few audience members in clapping.

Roxas took a quick bow, let the lights blink out, then headed off-ice, skirting around the three girls he'd shared the backstage area with as they glided past him on the way to center ice.

Then it was back to the dressing room, and a slower change of costumes as Roxas listened to the sounds of the zamboni sputtering across the rink for the intermission ice cut. He noticed Axel immediately upon entering, well aware that Cendres was the opening skater for the second half of the show and likely in a rush to get his skates on after lingering in the audience to watch him. They exchanged quick glances, Axel still grinning, while Roxas offered a smaller smile back. Then Axel was out the door, leaving Roxas to change and endure a few more good-natured jokes care of Hayner.

His duet with Naminé was the final number before the show's closing act, leaving ample time to lace up, then locate the spot where Axel had stood while he'd performed his own solo. Roxas took a seat, then waited as the lights dimmed once again and signaled the end of intermission.

"Welcome back for the second half of our show, folks. We have a special treat for you now." Roxas couldn't help his corresponding eye-roll at Demyx's proclamation. "He is this year's Senior Central Pacific Regional gold medalist, won silver at Sectionals, and is now on his way to shake things up Nationals. Let's give a nice hand to Roulade Arena's very own ...Axel Cendres!"

A burst of cheers from behind him had Roxas briefly glancing up. He surveyed the group of kids without overt interest, noticed Pence with a camera up to his face snapping pictures a few seats over, then turned back to watch Axel's opening steps.

Roxas had seen Axel's show program a few times over the past few days; what was lacking in choreographic complexity was more than made up for in a jump arsenal on par with a senior level competitive program. The guy had _chutzpah_ to throw not one but two triple axels into a show program, that was for sure. At the back of his mind, Roxas felt a hint of alarm at the knowledge that Axel was probably working on quads during his regular training sessions. Once those ended up in his competition programs, no amount of skating quality, no textbook turns or edges, would make up for the decided lack of at least one four-revolution jump among Roxas' own technical stockpile.

He pushed the thought away, forcing himself to observe the performance and not over-think things for once. Axel wasn't exactly a polished skater, but he was appealing to watch in other ways, not all of them physical. His grin after jumps was natural, for one, the joy he derived from skating genuine, as far as Roxas could tell.

Axel'd also clearly gotten over his hangup about the spotlights. He was on this morning, hitting every jump, lauching off one after the other like they were child's play. If his spins were a little less centered than usual, Roxas doubted anyone beyond him even noticed. Axel's rinkmates were on their feet and cheering before he'd managed to strike his end pose.

Axel held the position a moment longer than necessary, obviously satisfied with the run-through. As he made his way back to center ice to take his bow, Roxas rose, waiting for green eyes to locate him.

They did in short order. Ignoring the heady feeling that came on the heels of Axel's brief undivided attention, Roxas offered another small smile, this one made more confident by virtue of the distance between them. With a deliberate motion, he put his hands together and mimicked the same slow clap that Axel had treated him to earlier that weekend.

Instant recognition, followed by that trademark, assured expression that had Roxas' stomach twisting, heat rising from his chest and into his neck.

Then the moment was over. Axel took his bow, the lights dimmed, and Roxas turned to head back around the boards to the curtain for his duet with Naminé, sated from this silent form of silent, flirtatious interaction.

At least for now, anyway.

o - o

There were skaters all around him, chattering behind the curtain, getting on his last nerve as Roxas waited for his turn to skate again.

Despite Aqua's best attempts at keeping them quiet, she'd been no match for two dozen skaters whose skills ranged from beginner to barely scraping through a cheated single axel. While Roxas understood the point of having everyone out for the show's finale, it gave him no room to warm up without risking a collision with someone half his height.

It also made locating his siblings more than a little bit challenging.

He caught sight of Ven first, mostly because his brother had sidled up to Aqua whose sole aim seemed to be trying to keep rabid tween fans a respectable distance away from him.

As Roxas weaved his way through the masses and prayed that no one would step on his boot and cut a lace straight through, he heard snippets of Aqua's responses filter through over the notes of the current show music.

"Give …please …some space …autographs after the rehearsal."

So, Roxas noted, pretty much the usual.

Squeezing through a pair of pimply girls who looked no older than twelve and clearly starstruck by Ven's mere presence, Roxas broke free of the crowd, finally managing to glide his way over to his brother and one particularly frazzled looking Radiant Edge choreographer.

Ven grinned at his approach, clearly not minding the attention as much as Aqua, who was frowning.

"This absolutely _cannot_ happen during the real show." For a moment, Roxas thought she might be speaking to someone through her radio. The besieged look she shot him implied otherwise. "This noise is going to drown out the show's music. Someone needs to be back here controlling everyone until it's time for the finale."

The music faded, and she turned to a petite girl standing directly behind Ven, someone from the Roulade rink who Roxas didn't recognize, hadn't even seen until now, for that matter. She was wide-eyed and silent, eyes darting from Aqua to Ven, glancing once at Roxas, then back to Ven again, clearly nervous.

"Alright, sweetie, out you go." Aqua skirted around Ven, hand on the girls' shoulder. "Remember to stay in position until your music starts this time, okay?"

In the presence of an anxious skater, Aqua's demeanor changed, had become reassuring. Roxas watched without comment, simply acknowledging there was no way in Hades he'd ever have that much patience in the same situation. Aqua was a goddess among coaches. Saintly.

As Aqua handled the transition from one performer to another, Roxas turned to Ven.

"Any sign of Naminé? We go on pretty soon."

"I haven't seen her yet."

Ven shook his head, then glanced over Roxas' shoulder.

"Actually, I think…" Brows rising, Ven pointed to somewhere behind Roxas. "…yeah, there she is."

Bending and straightening his knees in an attempt to keep himself warm, Roxas followed Ven's line of sight over the heads of a dozen of the closest skaters. It took a beat longer until he was actually able to spot his sister as she forged a path around a bunch of noisy girls in between them. The looks of interest following her every movement weren't lost on Roxas. For the most part, he ignored them, which became easier once he caught an eyeful of what Naminé was wearing.

Snow white and oversized, it was a near-match of the hoodie Axel had gifted him yesterday.

His responding blush was immediate, and Roxas was just glad he could pass it off for the chill of rink air against pale skin that naturally reddened in cold temperatures if anyone took it upon themselves to comment.

As Naminé made her way closer, Roxas noticed differences between his hoodie and the one she was currently wearing, arms wrapped around her sides in her own effort to keep warm. While his had a pouch front and center with the rink logo and cartoony penguin mascot emblazoned above it, Naminé's sweatshirt was more of a zip-up jacket, the penguin much smaller and placed higher up on one side of the garment.

"What on Earth are you wearing?"

Still staring, Roxas arched an eyebrow at his sister.

"Oh, um." Naminé looked down at herself, then back up with a shy smile. "I got it in the lobby gift shop."

She side-stepped Aqua as another group of skaters made their way out from behind the curtain and the girl who'd just performed her number returned in a flourish. Naminé looked back up at Roxas, breath misting as she continued her explanation.

"Xion Roulade designed the penguin. Isn't it cute?"

"Uh …huh."

It was something, alright. Roxas gave it another once-over but said nothing further as he turned back to his brother.

"How's your ankle feeling?"

Ven shrugged.

"As good as it ever feels these days." He was quick to supplement as Roxas' expression clouded. "Really, it's fine. I can handle a spin and one jump, no problem."

Roxas knew this, but it didn't help to settle the sudden flood of emotion. It was still too soon, not long enough removed from session after session of watching Ven struggle to hold even the simplest of edges on one foot, from watching as Ven tried to relearn all of his jumps—the ones he could still manage, anyway. The harder triples all took off from and landed on his injured ankle; after a full year of physical therapy and the resumption of serious training, he'd never fully regained them, and a quad jump of any shade was out of the question. A year's worth of work, of pain and struggling on elements he'd once executed with little effort, and Ven had decided to retire from competitive skating.

How Ven could so smoothly reference something that had irreparably changed his life, Roxas didn't know. He didn't understand it, couldn't find a single parallel to relate back to his own current circumstances. Because a world without skating spelled an empty type of half-life to Roxas, a quick trip from relevance to a nobody's cursed existence, even though Ven seemed perfectly content to explore opportunities like sports broadcasting in lieu of it.

As the group before them completed their performance, Roxas watched Naminé shrug out of her new jacket and hand it over to a parent volunteer. He tried to picture a version of himself that wasn't firmly associated with competitive skating, but came up far short of a satisfactory image.

He felt an encouraging hand on his back, received a friendly smile from Ven, then he and Naminé passed through the curtains and skated hand-in-hand to their opening position.

The performance was fine; Roxas was almost sure of it. That being said, his thoughts were distracting him, his body simply going through the motions, expressions appropriate for the music but automatic, lacking his usual artistic verve. It was only when Ven appeared during the last minute of their number that Roxas returned to the present, acutely aware of his brother's movements as the two of them mirrored each other's back crossovers at opposite ends of the rink. In an oblong arc, they met Naminé at the halfway point, moving along either side of her, then skating ahead to set up triple toe loops.

It was a side-by-side move he and Ven had mastered years ago, on early morning practice sessions from the moment he'd first started landing the jump. A few years later, Naminé had also learned it, joining in on their jump-offs, laughing at falls on elements she and Roxas were still learning that Ven had already mastered. The three of them took off in unison, Roxas and Ven landing a split second after the more modest height that Naminé's jump had garnered.

In the final seconds of their program, Ven ended with a spin, as Roxas and Naminé did a simple pairs lift, finishing with Naminé lowered to the ice between both of them.

As he and Ven bowed and Naminé curtsied in front of them, the lights changed, brightened and spread out, signaling the finale. Demyx went through his ending announcement, while Roxas followed his siblings to the far edge of the ice and waited for their solo step-outs after the rest of Roulade's skaters filed out in a line on either end of the rink.

Naminé was called first. She performed a simple spiral, leg raised above her hip nearly into a split as she crossed the ice from one side to the other. One by one, Roxas watched other members from his club step out and perform a single element when their names were announced. He also saw Xion do an Ina Bauer, back gracefully arched, then watched Hayner and Olette execute a rotational dance lift before Demyx called his name.

Showtime.

Smile in place, Roxas did a few crossovers to pick up speed, then performed a set of Arabians, legs scissoring, upper body lower than his feet at the apex of each leap. Axel came next, and Roxas wasn't shocked to see him launch into a triple axel with almost no setup (the friggin' showoff). Ven had the honor of the final slot, Demyx playing up his competitive credentials as Roxas watched his brother glide to the center and take a quick bow before the row of guest skaters behind him followed suit.

Then it was over.

Except not, because Demyx kept talking through the speaker. True to form, Roxas kept smiling through a few standard end remarks about donations and thanking people for coming out to support their "modest little family-run establishment that with your generous support can be the home of future skating champions."

You know, the standard sort of bullshit.

But then—

"So, how about some encouragement for two talented guys who are on their way to Nationals next month? One of them learned everything he knows right here at Roulade Arena, folks. How's that for inspirational?"

Smile still pasted across his face, Roxas froze, eyes searching out Axel. From the puzzled look on Axel's face, he hadn't been expecting this either. With a light shrug, he quickly regained his composure, then beckoned to Roxas as he skated forward.

Roxas swallowed hard but followed a few glides behind. They slowed to a stop right behind Ven, for a moment simply looking at each other. Then both glanced over at Demyx in the sound booth.

"Roxas Strife and Axel Cendres, everyone. Sure to give each other a run for their respective money on the way to ice skating glory. Let's wish them well as they take a final bow."

Oh hell, this could not _be_ any more gratuitous. It was a small miracle Roxas didn't automatically eye-roll.

A hand brushed against his, then clasped it, and Roxas turned his head toward his rival.

"C'mon, Rox." Axel shot him a foxy grin. "Be a good sport. This'll be the money shot."

Without further warning, Axel raised their entwined hands, and Roxas felt a jolt travel down his arm as a camera flashed from the spectator section. There was no telling whether the sensation was induced by Axel's expression or the simple contact of skin against skin. Roxas wasn't even sure if it mattered at this point. Even the smallest things Axel was doing seemed to be getting to him.

Their hands lowered together as they both bowed behind Ven. By the time Roxas straightened, his face was flushed again, and the breathless feeling had returned in force. This time, neither reaction could be attributed to the cold air around them.


End file.
